Savrola : a tale of the revolution in Laurania

NUNC COCNOSCO EX PARTE

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SAVROLA

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SAVROLA

A TALE OF THE REVOLUTION IN
LAURANIA

BY

WINSTON SPENCER CHURCHILL

AUTHOR OF “THE RIVER WAR: AN ACCOUNT OF THE RECOVERY
OF THE SOUDAN " AND “ THE STORY OF THE MALAKAND
FIELD FORCE”

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.

91 AND 93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
LONDON AND BOMBAY
1900

yUoo s-H'D SB

Copyright, 1899, by

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

First Edition, November, 1899
Reprinted January, 1900

TYPOGRAPHY BY 1. B. CUSHING A CO., NORWOOD, MASS,

THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED

TO

THE OFFICERS

OF THE

IVth (QUEEN’S OWN) HUSSARS

IN WHOSE COMPANY THE AUTHOR LIVED

FOR FOUR HAPPY YEARS

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PREFATORY NOTE

This story was written in 1897, an<3 has
already appeared in serial form in Macmil¬
lans Magazine. Since its first reception
was not unfriendly, I resolved to publish
it as a book, and I now submit it with
considerable trepidation to the judgment or
clemency of the public.

WINSTON S. CHURCHILL.

CONTENTS

I.

An Event of Political Importance

PAGE

I

II.

The Head of the State .

IS

III.

The Man of the Multitude

31

IV.

The Deputation

48

V.

A Private Conversation .

64

VI.

On Constitutional Grounds

78

VII.

The State Ball

92

VIII.

“ In the Starlight ”

1 12

IX.

The Admiral ....

128

X.

The Wand of the Magician .

142

XI.

In the Watches of the Night .

159

XII.

A Council of War .

173

XIII.

The Action of the Executive .

M

00

Cn

XIV.

The Loyalty of the Army

204

XV.

Surprises ....

218

XVI.

The Progress of the Revolt

234

XVII.

The Defence of the Palace

249

XVIII.

From a Window

272

XIX.

An Educational Experience .

289

XX.

The End of the Quarrel

3°4

XXI.

The Return of the Fleet

3j6

XXII.

Life’s Compensations

332

ix

CHAPTER I.

AN EVENT OF POLITICAL IMPORTANCE.

There had been a heavy shower of rain,
but the sun was already shining through the
breaks in the clouds and throwing swiftly
changing shadows on the streets, the houses,
and the gardens of the city of Laurania.
Everything shone wetly in the sunlight : the
dust had been laid ; the air was cool ; the
trees looked green and grateful. It was
the first rain after the summer heats, and
it marked the beginning of that delightful
autumn climate which has made the Lau-
ranian capital the home of the artist, the
invalid, and the sybarite.

The shower had been heavy, but it had
not dispersed the crowds that were gathered
in the great square in front of the Parliament
House. It was welcome, but it had not
altered their anxious and angry looks ; it had

2 AN EVENT OF POLITICAL IMPORTANCE.

drenched them without cooling their excite¬
ment. Evidently an event of consequence
was taking place. The fine building, where
the representatives of the people were wont
to meet, wore an aspect of sombre impor¬
tance that the trophies and statues, with
which an ancient and an art-loving people
had decorated its fa9ade, did not dispel. A
squadron of Lancers of the Republican
Guard was drawn up at the foot of the great
steps, and a considerable body of infantry
kept a broad space clear in front of the
entrance. Behind the soldiers the people
filled in the rest of the picture. They
swarmed in the square and the streets lead¬
ing to it; they had scrambled on to the
numerous monuments, which the taste and
pride of the Republic had raised to the
memory of her ancient heroes, covering them
so completely that they looked like mounds
of human beings; even the trees contained
their occupants, while the windows and often
the roofs, of the houses and offices which
overlooked the scene were crowded with
spectators. It was a great multitude and it

AN EVENT OF POLITICAL IMPORTANCE. 3

vibrated with excitement. Wild passions
surged across the throng, as squalls sweep
across a stormy sea. Here and there a man,
mounting above his fellows, would harangue
those whom his voice could reach, and a
cheer or a shout was caught up by thousands
who had never heard the words but were
searching for something to give expression
to their feelings.

It was a great day in the history of
Laurania. For five long years since the
Civil War the people had endured the insult
of autocratic rule. The fact that the Gov¬
ernment was strong, and the memory of the
disorders of the past, had operated powerfully
on the minds of the more sober citizens.
But from the first there had been murmurs.
There were many who had borne arms on
the losing side in the long struggle that had
ended in the victory of President Antonio
Molara. Some had suffered wounds or con¬
fiscation; others had undergone imprison¬
ment; many had lost friends and relations,
who with their latest breath had enjoined
the uncompromising prosecution of the war.

4 AN EVENT OF POLITICAL IMPORTANCE.

The Government had started with implaca¬
ble enemies, and their rule had been harsh
and tyrannical. The ancient constitution to
which the citizens were so strongly attached
and of which they were so proud, had been
subverted. The President, alleging the prev¬
alence of sedition, had declined to invite
the people to send their representatives to
that chamber which had for many centuries
been regarded as the surest bulwark of popu¬
lar liberties. Thus the discontents increased
day by day and year by year: the National
party, which had at first consisted only of a
few survivors of the beaten side, had swelled
into the most numerous and powerful faction
in the State ; and at last they had found
a leader. The agitation proceeded on all
sides. The large and turbulent population
of the capital were thoroughly devoted to the
rising cause. Demonstration had followed
demonstration ; riot had succeeded riot ;
even the army showed signs of unrest. At
length the President had decided to make
concessions. It was announced that on the
first of September the electoral writs should

AN EVENT OF POLITICAL IMPORTANCE. 5

be issued and the people should be accorded
an opportunity of expressing their wishes
and opinions.

This pledge had contented the more
peaceable citizens. The extremists, finding
themselves in a minority, had altered their
tone. The Government, taking advantage
of the favourable moment, had arrested sev¬
eral of the more violent leaders. Others,
who had fought in the war and had returned
from exile to take part in the revolt, fled for
their lives across the border. A rigorous
search for arms had resulted in important
captures. European nations, watching with
interested and anxious eyes the political
barometer, were convinced that the Govern¬
ment cause was in the ascendant. But
meanwhile the people waited, silent and ex¬
pectant, for the fulfilment of the promise.

At length the day had come. The neces¬
sary preparations for summoning the seventy
thousand male electors to record their votes
had been carried out by the public officials.
The President, as the custom prescribed,
was in person to sign the necessary writ of

6 AN EVENT OF POLITICAL IMPORTANCE.

summons to the faithful citizens. Warrants
for election would be forwarded to the vari¬
ous electoral divisions in the city and the
provinces, and those who were by the ancient
law entitled to the franchise would give their
verdict on the conduct of him whom the Pop¬
ulists in bitter hatred had called the Dictator.

It was for this moment that the crowd was
waiting. Though cheers from time to time
arose, they waited for the most part in
silence. Even when the President had
passed on his way to the Senate, they had
foreborne to hoot ; in their eyes he was
virtually abdicating, and that made amends
for all. The time-honoured observances, the
long-loved rights would be restored, and
once more democratic government would be
triumphant in Laurania.

Suddenly, at the top of the steps in the
full view of the people, a young man ap¬
peared, his dress disordered and his face
crimson with excitement. It was Moret, one
of the Civic Council. He was immediately
recognised by the populace, and a great
cheer arose. Many who could not see him

AN EVENT OF POLITICAL IMPORTANCE. 7

took up the shout, which re-echoed through
the square, the expression of a nation’s satis¬
faction. He gesticulated vehemently, but
his words, if he spoke at all, were lost in the
tumult. Another man, an usher, followed
him out hurriedly, put his hand on his
shoulder, appeared to speak with earnest¬
ness, and drew him back into the shadow of
the entrance. The crowd still cheered.

A third figure issued from the door, an
old man in the robes of municipal office.
He walked, or rather tottered feebly down
the steps to a carriage, which had drawn
up to meet him. Again there were cheers.
“ Godoy ! Godoy ! Bravo, Godoy ! Cham¬
pion of the People! Hurrah, hurrah!”

It was the Mayor, one of the strongest
and most reputable members of the party
of Reform. He entered his carriage and
drove through the open space, maintained
by the soldiery, into the crowd, which, still
cheering, gave way with respect.

The carriage was open and it was evi¬
dent that the old man was painfully moved.
His face was pale, his mouth puckered into

8 AN EVENT OF POLITICAL IMPORTANCE.

an expression of grief and anger, his whole
frame shaken with suppressed emotion. The
crowd had greeted him with applause, but,
quick to notice, were struck by his altered
appearance and woeful looks. They crowded
round the carriage crying : “ What has hap¬
pened ? Is all well ? Speak, Godoy, speak ! ”
But he would have none of them, and quiv¬
ering with agitation bade his coachman drive
the faster. The people gave way slowly,
sullenly, thoughtfully, as men who make mo¬
mentous resolutions. Something had hap¬
pened, untoward, unforeseen, unwelcome ;
what this was, they were anxious to know.

And then began a period of wild rumour.
The President had refused to sign the writs ;
he had committed suicide ; the troops had
been ordered to fire ; the elections would
not take place, after all ; Savrola had been
arrested, — seized in the very Senate, said
one, murdered added another. The noise
of the multitude changed into a dull dis¬
sonant hum of rising: anger.

At last the answer came. There was a
house, overlooking the square, which was

AN EVENT OF POLITICAL IMPORTANCE. 9

separated from the Chamber of Representa¬
tives only by a narrow street, and this street
had been kept clear for traffic by the troops.
On the balcony of this house the young
man, Moret, the Civic Councillor, now re¬
appeared, and his coming was the signal
for a storm of wild, anxious cries from the
vast concourse. He held up his hand for
silence and after some moments his words
became audible to those nearest. “You are
betrayed — a cruel fraud — the hopes we
had cherished are dashed to the ground —
all has been done in vain — Cheated !
cheated ! cheated ! ” The broken fragments
of his oratory reached far into the mass of
excited humanity, and then he shouted a
sentence, which was heard by thousands and
repeated by thousands more. “ The register
of citizenship has been mutilated, and the
names of more than half the electors have
been erased. To your tents, oh people of
Laurania ! ”

For an instant there was silence, and then
a great sob of fury, of disappointment, and
of resolve arose from the multitude.

IO AN EVENT OF POLITICAL IMPORTANCE.

At this moment the presidential carriage,
with its four horses, its postilions in the
Republican livery, and an escort of Lancers,
moved forward to the foot of the steps, as
there emerged from the Parliament House
a remarkable figure. He wore the splendid
blue and white uniform of a general of the
Lauranian Army ; his breast glittered with
medals and orders; his keen strong features
were composed. He paused for a moment
before descending to his carriage, as if to
give the mob an opportunity to hiss and
hoot to their content, and appeared to talk
unconcernedly with his companion, Senor
Louvet, the Minister of the Interior. He
pointed once or twice towards the surging
masses, and then walked slowly down the
steps. Louvet had intended to accompany
him, but he heard the roar of the crowd and
remembered that he had some business to
attend to in the Senate that could not be
delayed ; the other went on alone. The sol¬
diers presented arms. A howl of fury arose
from the people. A mounted officer, who sat
his horse unmoved, an inexorable machine,

AN EVENT OF POLITICAL IMPORTANCE. I I

turned to a subordinate with an order. Sev¬
eral companies of foot-soldiers began defil¬
ing from the side street on the right of the
Chamber, and drawing up in line in the
open space which was now partly invaded
by the mob.

The President entered his carriage which,
preceded by an entire troop of Lancers,
immediately started at a trot. So soon as
the carriage reached the edge of the open
space, a rush was made by the crowd. The
escort closed up ; “ Fall back there ! ” shouted
an officer, but he was unheeded. “ Will you
move, or must we move you ? ” said a gruffer
voice. Yet the mob gave not an inch. The
danger was imminent. “Cheat! Traitor!
Liar! Tyrant!” they shouted, with many
other expressions too coarse to be recorded.
“ Give us back our rights — you, who have
stolen them ! ”

And then some one at the back of the
crowd fired a revolver into the air. The
effect was electrical. The Lancers dropped
their points and sprang forward. Shouts of
terror and fury arose on all sides. The pop-

12 AN EVENT OF POLITICAL IMPORTANCE.

ulace fled before the cavalry; some fell on
the ground and were trampled to death;
some were knocked down and injured by
the horses; a few were speared by the sol¬
diers. It was a horrible scene. Those be¬
hind threw stones, and some fired random
pistol shots. The President remained un¬
moved. Erect and unflinching he gazed on
the tumult as men gaze at a race about which
they have not betted. His hat was knocked
off, and a trickle of blood down his cheek
showed where a stone had struck. For some
moments the issue seemed doubtful. The
crowd might storm the carriage and then, —
to be torn to pieces by a rabble ! There
were other and more pleasant deaths. But
the discipline of the troops overcame all
obstacles, the bearing of the man appeared
to cow his enemies, and the crowd fell back,
still hooting and shouting.

Meanwhile the officer commanding the
infantry by the Parliament House had been
alarmed by the rushes of the mob, which
he could see were directed at the President’s
carriage. He determined to create a diver-

AN EVENT OF POLITICAL IMPORTANCE. 1 3

sion. “We shall have to fire on them,” he
said to the Major who was beside him.

“ Excellent,” replied that officer ; “ it will
enable us to conclude those experiments in
penetration, which we have been trying with
the soft-nosed bullet. A very valuable ex¬
periment, Sir,” and then turning to the sol¬
diers he issued several orders. “ A very
valuable experiment,” he repeated.

“ Somewhat expensive,” said the Colonel
dryly ; “ and half a company will be enough,
Major.”

There was a rattle of breech-blocks as the
rifles were loaded. The people immediately
in front of the troops struggled madly to
escape the impending volley. One man, a
man in a straw hat, kept his head. He
rushed forward. “ For God’s sake don t
fire!” he cried. “Have mercy! We will
disperse.”

There was a moment’s pause, a sharp order
and a loud explosion, followed by screams.
The man in the straw hat bent backwards
and fell on the ground ; other figures also
subsided and lay still in curiously twisted

14 an event of political importance,

postures. Every one else except the soldiers
fled ; fortunately there were many exits to
the square, and in a few minutes it was
almost deserted. The President’s carriage
made its way through the flying crowd to
the gates of the palace, which were guarded
by more soldiers, and passed through in
safety.

All was now over. The spirit of the mob
was broken and the wide expanse of Con¬
stitution Square was soon nearly empty.
Forty bodies and some expended cartridges
lay on the ground. Both had played their
part in the history of human development
and passed out of the considerations of
living men. Nevertheless the soldiers
picked up the empty cases, and presently
some police came with carts and took the
other things away, and all was quiet again
in Laurania.

CHAPTER II.

THE HEAD OF THE STATE.

The carriage and its escort passed the
ancient gateway and driving through a wide
courtyard drew up at the entrance of the
palace. The President alighted. He fully
appreciated the importance of retaining the
good will and support of the army, and im¬
mediately walked up to the officer who com¬
manded the Lancers. “ None of your men
hurt, I trust,” he said.

“ Nothing serious, General,” replied the
subaltern.

“You handled your troop with great judg¬
ment and courage. It shall be remembered.
But it is easy to lead brave men ; they shall
not be forgotten. Ah, Colonel, you are
quite right to come to me. I anticipated
some trouble with the disaffected classes,
so soon as it became known that we were
still determined to maintain law and order

*5

1 6 THE HEAD OF THE STATE.

in the State.” These last words were
spoken to a dark, bronzed man who had
hurriedly entered the courtyard by a side
gate. Colonel Sorrento, for such was the
newcomer’s name, was the military chief of
the Police. Besides filling this important
office, he discharged the duties of War-
Minister to the Republic. The combination
enabled the civil power to be supplemented
by the military with great and convenient
promptitude, whenever it was necessary or
desirable to take strong measures. The
arrangement was well suited to the times.
Usually Sorrento was calm and serene. He
had seen many engagements and much war
of the type which knows no quarter, had
been several times wounded, and was re¬
garded as a brave and callous man. But
there is something appalling in the concen¬
trated fury of a mob, and the Colonel’s
manner betrayed the fact that he was not
quite proof against it.

“ Are you wounded, Sir ? ” he asked,
catching sight of the President’s face.

“It is nothing, — a stone ; but they were

THE HEAD OF THE STATE.

17

very violent. Some one had roused them ;

I had hoped to get away before the news
was known. Who was it spoke to them ? ”

“ Moret, the Civic Councillor, from the
balcony of the hotel. A very dangerous
man! He told them they were betrayed.”

“ Betrayed ? What audacity ! Surely such
language would come within the 20th Sec¬
tion of the Constitution: Inciting to violence
against the person of the Head of the State
by misrepresentation or otherwise . The
President was well versed in those clauses
of the public law which were intended to
strengthen the hands of the Kxecutive.
“ Have him arrested, Sorrento. We cannot
allow the majesty of Government to be in¬
sulted with impunity, — or stay, perhaps it
would be wiser to be magnanimous now
that the matter is settled. I do not want
a State prosecution just at present.” Then
he added in a louder voice : “ This young
officer, Colonel, discharged his duty with
great determination, — a most excellent
soldier. Please see that a note is made of
it. Promotion should always go by meiit,

1 8 THE HEAD OF THE STATE.

not by age, for services and not for service.
We will not forget your behaviour, young
man.”

He ascended the steps and entered the
hall of the palace, leaving the subaltern, a
boy of twenty-two, flushed with pleasure
and excitement, to build high hopes of
future command and success.

The hall was spacious and well-propor¬
tioned. It was decorated in the purest
style of the Lauranian Republic, the arms
of which were everywhere displayed. The
pillars were of ancient marble and by their
size and colour attested the wealth and
magnificence of former days. The tessel¬
lated pavement presented a pleasing pattern.
Elaborate mosaics on the walls depicted
scenes from the national history : the foun¬
dation of the city; the peace of 1370; the
reception of the envoys of the Great Mogul:
the victory of Brota ; the death of Saldanho,
that austere patriot, who died rather than
submit to a technical violation of the Con¬
stitution. And then coming down to later
years, the walls showed the building of the

THE HEAD OF THE STATE.

19

Parliament House : the naval victory of
Cape Cheronta, and finally the conclusion
of the Civil War in 1883. On either side of
the hall, in a deep alcove, a bronze fountain,
playing amid surrounding palms and ferns,
imparted a feeling of refreshing coolness to
the eye and ear. Facing the entrance was a
broad staircase, leading to the state rooms
whose doors were concealed by crimson cur¬
tains.

A woman stood at the top of the stairs.
Her hands rested on the marble balustrade;
her white dress contrasted with the bright-
coloured curtains behind her. She was very
beautiful, but her face wore an expression
of alarm and anxiety. Woman-like she
asked three questions at once. “ What has
happened, Antonio ? Have the people
risen ? Why have they been firing ? ” She
paused timidly at the head of the stairs, as
if fearing to descend.

“ All is well,” replied the President in his
official manner. “Some of the disaffected
have rioted, but the Colonel here has taken
every precaution and order reigns once

20

THE HEAD OF THE STATE.

more, dearest.” Then turning to Sorrento,
he went on : “ It is possible that the disturb¬
ances may be renewed. The troops should
be confined to barracks and you may give
them an extra day’s pay to drink the health
of the Republic. Double the Guards and
you had better have the streets patrolled to¬
night. In case anything happens, you will
find me here. Good-night, Colonel.” He
walked up a few steps, and the War-Minis¬
ter, bowing gravely, turned and departed.

The woman came down the stairs and
they met midway. He took both her hands
in his and smiled affectionately; she, stand¬
ing one step above him, bent forward and
kissed him. It was an amiable, though
formal, salutation.

“Well,” he said, “ we have got through
to-day all right, my dear; but how long it
can go on, I do not know ; the revolutiona¬
ries seem to get stronger every day. It was
a very dangerous moment just now. in the
square ; but it is over for the present.”

“ I have passed an anxious hour,” she said,
and then, catching sight for the first time of

THE HEAD OF . THE STATE.

21

his bruised forehead, she started. “ But you
are wounded.”

“ It is nothing,” said the President. “ They
threw stones ; now, we used bullets ; they are
better arguments.”

“ What happened at the Senate ? ”

“ I had expected trouble, you know. I
told them in my speech that, in spite of the
unsettled state of affairs, we had decided to
restore the ancient Constitution of the Re¬
public, but that it had been necessary to
purge the register of the disaffected and re¬
bellious. The Mayor took it out of the box
and they scrambled over each other to look
at the total electorates for the divisions.
When they saw how much they were re¬
duced they were very angry. Godoy was
speechless ; he is a fool, that man. Louvet
told them that it must be taken as an instal¬
ment, and that as things got more settled the
franchise would be extended; but they howled
with fury. Indeed, had it not been for the
ushers and for a few men of the Guard, I be¬
lieve they would have assaulted me there and
then in the very Chamber itself. Moret

22

THE HEAD OF THE STATE.

shook his fist at me, — ridiculous young ass
— and rushed out to harangue the mob.”

“ And Savrola? ”

“Oh, Savrola, — he was quite calm; he
laughed when he saw the register. ‘It is
only a question of a few months,’ he said ;

‘ I wonder you think it worth while.’ I told
him that I did not understand him, but he
spoke the truth for all that ; ” and then, tak¬
ing his wife’s hand in his, he climbed the
stairs slowly and thoughtfully.

But there is little rest for a public man in
times of civil disturbance. No sooner had
Molara reached the top of the stairs and
entered the reception-room, than a man ad¬
vanced to meet him from a door at the far
end. He was small, dark, and very ugly, with
a face wrinkled with age and an indoor life.
Its pallor showed all the more by contrast
with his hair and short moustache, both of
which were of that purple blackness to which
Nature is unable to attain. In his hand he
carried a large bundle of papers, carefully dis¬
posed into departments by his long and deli¬
cate fingers. It was the Private Secretary.

THE HEAD OF THE STATE.

23

“ What is it, Miguel ? ” asked the Presi¬
dent ; “ you have some papers for me ? ”

“Yes, Sir; a few minutes will suffice.
You have had an exciting day; I rejoice it
has terminated successfully.”

“ It has not been devoid of interest,” said
Molara, wearily. “ What have you got for
me r

“ Several foreign despatches. Great Brit¬
ain has sent a note about the Sphere of In¬
fluence to the south of the African Colony,
to which the Foreign Minister has drafted a
reply.”

“ Ah ! these English, — how grasping, how
domineering ! But we must be firm. I will
maintain the territories of the Republic
against all enemies, internal or external.
We cannot send armies, but, thank God,
we can write despatches. Is it strong
enough ? ”

“Your Excellency need have no fears.
We have vindicated our rights most em¬
phatically ; it will be a great moral victory.”

“ I hope we shall get material as well as
moral good out of it. The country is rich ;

24

THE MEAD OF THE STATE.

there is paying gold ; that explains the note.
Of course we must reply severely. What
else ? ”

“ There are some papers relating to the
army, commissions and promotions, Sir,”
said Miguel, fingering one particular bundle
of his papers, the bundle that lay between
his first and second fingers. “ Those sen¬
tences for confirmation, a draft of Morgon’s
Budget for information and opinion, and one
or two minor matters.”

“ H’m, a long business ! Very well, I
will come and see to it. Dearest, you know
how pressed I am. We shall meet to-night
at the dinner. Have all the Ministers ac¬
cepted ? ”

“ All but Louvet, Antonio. He is de¬
tained by business.”

“ Business, pooh ! He is afraid of the
streets at night. What a thing it is to be a
coward ! Thus he misses a good dinner.
At eight then, Lucile.” And with a quick
and decided step he passed through the
small door of the private office followed by
the Secretary.

THE HEAD OF THE STATE.

25

Madame Antonio Molara remained stand¬
ing for a moment in the great reception-
room. Then she walked to the window and
stepped out on to the balcony. The scene
which stretched before her was one of sur¬
passing beauty. The palace stood upon high
ground commanding a wide view of the city
and the harbour. The sun was low on the
horizon, but the walls of the houses still
stood out in glaring white. The red and
blue tiled roofs were relieved by frequent
gardens and squares whose green and grace¬
ful palms soothed and gratified the eye. To
the north the great pile of the Senate House
and Parliament buildings loomed up majestic
and imposing. Westward lay the harbour
with its shipping and protecting forts. A
few warships floated in the roads, and many
white-sailed smacks dotted the waters of the
Mediterranean Sea, which had already begun
to change their blue for the more gorgeous
colours of sunset.

As she stood there in the clear light of
the autumn evening, she looked divinely
beautiful. She had arrived at that age of

26 THE HEAD OF THE STATE.

life, when to the attractions of a maiden’s
beauty are added those of a woman’s wit.
Her perfect features were the mirror of her
mind, and displayed with every emotion and
every mood that vivacity of expression which
is the greatest of woman’s charms. Her tall
figure was instinct with grace, and the almost
classic dress she wore enhanced her beauty
and harmonised with her surroundings.

Something in her face suggested a wistful
aspiration. Lucile had married Antonio Mo-
lara nearly five years before, when he was in
the height and vigour of his power. Her
family had been among the stoutest sup¬
porters of his cause, and her father and
brother had lost their lives on the battlefield
of Sorato. Her mother, broken down by
calamity and sorrow, lived only to commend
her daughter to the care of their most pow¬
erful friend, the general who had saved the
State and would now rule it. He had ac¬
cepted the task at first from a feeling of
obligation to those who had followed his star
so faithfully, but afterwards from other mo¬
tives. Before a month had passed he fell in

THE HEAD OF THE STATE.

27

love with the beautiful girl whom Fortune
had led to him. She admired his courage,
his energy, and his resource; the splendours
of the office that he filled were not without
their influence ; he offered her wealth and
position, — almost a throne ; and besides he
was a fine figure of a man. She was twenty-
three when they married. For many months
her life had been a busy one. Receptions,
balls, and parties had filled the winter season
with the unremitting labour of entertaining.
Foreign princes had paid her homage, not
only as the loveliest woman in Europe, but
also as a great political figure. Her salon
was crowded with the most famous men
from every country. Statesmen, soldiers,
poets, and men of science had worshipped
at the shrine. She had mixed in matters of
State. Suave and courtly ambassadors had
thrown out delicate hints, and she had replied
with unofficial answers. Plenipotentiaries
had explained the details of treaties and pro¬
tocols, with remarkable elaboration, for hei
benefit. Philanthropists had argued, urged,
and expounded their views or whims. Every

28

THE HEAD OF THE STATE.

one talked to her of public business. Even
her maid had approached her with an appli¬
cation for the advancement of her brother, a
clerk in the Post Office ; and every one had
admired her until admiration itself, the most
delicious drink that a woman tastes, became
insipid.

But even during the first few years there
had been something wanting. What it was
Lucile had never been able to guess. Her
husband was affectionate and such time as
he could spare from public matters was at
her service. Of late things had been less
bright. The agitation of the country, the
rising forces of Democracy, added to the
already heavy business of the Republic, had
taxed the President’s time and energies to
the full. Hard lines had come into his face,
lines of work and anxiety, and sometimes
she had caught a look of awful weariness, as
of one who toils and yet foresees that his
labour will be vain. He saw her less fre¬
quently, and in those short intervals talked
more and more of business and politics.

A feeling of unrest seemed to pervade the

THE HEAD OF THE STATE.

29

capital. The season, which had just begun,
had opened badly. Many of the great fami¬
lies had remained in their summer residences
on the slopes of the mountains, though the
plains were already cool and green ; others
had kept to their own houses in the city,
and only the most formal entertainments at
the palace had been attended. As the out¬
look became more threatening it seemed that
she was able to help him less. Passions were
being roused that blinded the eyes to beauty
and dulled the mind to charm. She was still
a queen, but her subjects were sullen and in¬
attentive. What could she do to help him,
now that he was so hard pressed ? The
thought of abdication was odious to her, as
to every woman. Must she remain directing
the ceremonies of the Court after the brill¬
iancy had died out, while enemies were work¬
ing night and day to overturn all that she
was attached to ?

“ Can I do nothing, nothing ? ” she mur¬
mured. “ Have I played my part ? Is the
best of life over? ” and then, with a hot wave
of petulant resolve, “ I will do it, — but what?”

30

THE HEAD OF THE STATE.

The question remained unanswered ; the
edge of the sun dipped beneath the horizon
and at the end of the military mole, from the
shapeless mound of earth that marked the
protecting battery of the harbour, sprang a
puff of smoke. It was the evening gun, and
the sound of the report, floating faintly up to
her, interrupted the unpleasing reflections
which had filled her thoughts ; but they left
a memory behind. She turned with a sigh
and re-entered the palace ; gradually the day¬
light died away and it became night.

CHAPTER III.

THE MAN OF THE MULTITUDE.

Dismay and bitter anger filled the city.
The news of the fusilade spread fast and far,
and, as is usual on such occasions, its effects
were greatly exaggerated. But the police
precautions were well conceived and ably
carried out. Nothing like a crowd was al¬
lowed to gather, and the constant patrolling
of the streets prevented the building of barri¬
cades. The aspect of the Republican Guard
was moreover so formidable that, whatever
the citizens might feel, they found it discreet
to display an acquiescent, and in some cases
even a contented demeanour.

With the leaders of the Popular party it
was however different. They immediately
assembled at the official residence of the
Mayor, and a furious discussion ensued. In
the hall of the Mayoralty an emergency meet¬
ing was held, at which all the power of the

3*

32

THE MAN OF THE MULTITUDE.

party was represented. Moret, the Civic
Councillor and former editor of the sup¬
pressed Trumpet Call, was much cheered
as he entered the room. His speech had
appealed to many, and the Lauranians were
always ready to applaud a daring act. Be¬
sides, every one was agitated by the recent
riot and was eager to do something. The
Labour delegates were particularly angry.
Working-men, assembled in constitutional
manner to express their grievances, had been
shot down by a hireling soldiery, — massa¬
cred was the word most generally used. Ven¬
geance must be taken ; but how ? The wild¬
est schemes were suggested. Moret, always
for bold counsels, was for sallying into the
streets and rousing the people to arms ; they
would burn the palace, execute the tyrant,
and restore the liberties of the land. Godoy,
old and cautious, strongly opposed the sug¬
gestion, though indeed no particular eager¬
ness was shown to adopt it. He advocated
a calm and dignified attitude of reproach and
censure, which would appeal to the com¬
ity of nations and vindicate the justice of

THE MAN OF THE MULTITUDE. 33

their cause. Others took up the argument.
Renos, the barrister, was for what he called
constitutional methods. They should form
themselves into a Committee of Public Safety ;
they should appoint the proper officers of State
(including of course an Attorney-General),
and decree the deposition of the President
for violation of the fundamental principles
contained in the preamble of the Declaration
of National Rights. He proceeded to dilate
upon the legal points involved, until inter¬
rupted by several members who were anxious
to offer their own remarks.

Several resolutions were passed. It was
agreed that the President had forfeited the
confidence of the citizens, and he was forth¬
with called upon to resign his office and
submit himself to the Courts of Law. It
was also agreed that the army had deserved
ill of the Republic. It was resolved to pros¬
ecute at civil law the soldiers who had fired
on the people, and a vote of sympathy was
carried in favour of the relations of the
killed and wounded, or martyrs as they were
called.

34

THE MAN OF THE MULTITUDE.

This scene of impotence and futility was
ended by the entrance of the remarkable
man who had raised a party from the dust,
and had led them from one success to
another until it had seemed that the victory
was won. Silence fell upon the assemblage ;
some stood up in respect; everyone won¬
dered what he would say. How would he
bear the crushing defeat that had fallen
upon them? Would he despair of the
movement? Would he be angry or sad or
cynical ? Above all, what course would he
propose ?

He walked to the end of the long table
around which the members were grouped,
and sat down deliberately. Then he looked
round the room, with a face as calm and
serene as ever. In that scene of confusion
and indecision he looked magnificent. His
very presence imparted a feeling of confi¬
dence to his followers. His high and ample
forehead might have contained the answer
to every question; his determined com¬
posure seemed equal to the utmost stroke
of Fate.

THE MAN OF THE MULTITUDE.

35

After a moment’s pause, invited by the
silence, he rose. His words were studiously
moderate. It had been a disappointment
to him, he said, to find that the registers
had been mutilated. The ultimate success
was deferred, but it was only deferred. He
had waited before coming to the Mayoralty
to make a few calculations. They were
necessarily rough and hurried, but he
thought they were approximately correct.
The President, it was true, would have a
majority in the forthcoming Parliament,
and a substantial majority; but they would
win certain seats, in spite of the restricted
electorate; about fifty, he thought, in a
house of three hundred. Smaller minorities
than that had overthrown more powerful
Governments. Every day added to their
strength ; every day increased the hatred
of the Dictator. Besides, there were other
alternatives than constitutional procedure,
and at these words some set their teeth and
looked at each other in deep significance —
but for the present they must wait; and
they could afford to wait, for the prize was

36 THE MAN OF THE MULTITUDE.

worth winning. It was the most precious
possession in the world, — liberty. He sat
down amid brighter faces and calmer minds.
The deliberations were resumed. It was
decided to relieve, out of the general funds
of the party, those who were in poverty
through the massacre of their relations;
that would increase their popularity with
the working classes, and might win the
sympathy of foreign nations. A deputation
should wait on the President to express the
grief of the citizens at the mutilation of their
ancient register, and to beg that he would
restoie their franchises. It should also
demand the punishment of the officers who
had fired on the people, and should acquaint
the President with the alarm and indigna¬
tion of the city. Savrola, Godoy, and
Kenos were named as the members of the
deputation, and the Reform Committee then
dispersed quietly.

Moret lingered till the end and approached
Savrola. He was surprised that he had not
been suggested as a member of the deputa¬
tion. He knew his leader much better than

THE MAN OF THE MULTITUDE. 37

Renos, a pedantic lawyer who made few
friends : he had followed Savrola from the
beginning with blind enthusiasm and de¬
votion ; and he now felt hurt that he should
be passed over like this.

“ It has been a bad day for us,” he said
tentatively ; and then as Savrola did not
reply, he continued, “ Who would have
thought they would have dared to trick
us?”

“ It has been a very bad day, — for you,”
replied Savrola thoughtfully.

“ For me ? Why, what do you mean ? ”

“ Have you reflected that you have forty
human lives to answer for? Your speech
was useless, — what good could it do ? Their
blood is on your head. The people too are
cowed. Much harm has been done ; it is
your fault.”

“ My fault ! I was furious, — he cheated
us, — I thought only of revolt. I never
dreamed you would sit down tamely like
this. That devil should be killed now, at
once, — before more mischief happens.”

“ Look here, Moret : I am as young as

38 THE MAN OF THE MULTITUDE.

you ; I feel as acutely ; I am full of en¬
thusiasm. I, too, hate Molara more than
is wise or philosophic ; but I contain my¬
self, when nothing is to be gained by giv¬
ing way. Now mark my words. Either
you learn to do so, or you can go your
ways, for I will have none of you, — politi¬
cally, that is, — as a friend, it is different.”

He sat down and began to write a letter,
while Moret, pale with that mortification
which is made up of anger and self-re¬
proach, and quivering under his rebuke,
left the room in haste.

Savrola remained. There was much busi¬
ness to do that evening ; letters had to be
written and read, the tone of the leading
articles in the Democratic Press explained,
and many other matters decided. The ma¬
chinery of a great party, and still more of
a great conspiracy, needed careful and con¬
stant attention. It was nine o’clock before
he finished.

“ Well, good-night, Godoy,” he said to the
Mayor ; “ we shall have another busy day to¬
morrow. We must contrive to frighten the

THE MAN OF THE MULTITUDE. 39

Dictator. Let me know at what time he
will give audience.”

At the door of the Mayoralty he called a
hackney-coach, a conveyance which neither
the dulness of the social season nor the ex¬
citement of political affairs could restrain
from its customary occupation. After a
short drive he arrived at a small though not
inelegant house, for he was a man of means,
in the most fashionable quarter of the town.
An old woman opened the door to his knock.
She looked rejoiced to see him.

“ La,” she said, “ I have had a fearful time
with you away, and all this shooting and
noise. But the afternoons are chilly now
and you should have had your coat; I fear
you will have a cold to-morrow.”

“ It is all right, Bettine,” he answered
kindly ; “ I have a good chest, thanks to
your care ; but I am very tired. Send me
some soup to my room ; I will not dine to¬
night.”

He went upstairs, while she bustled off to
get him the best dinner she could improvise.
The apartments he lived in were on the

40

THE MAN OF THE MULTITUDE.

second storey — a bedroom, a bathroom, and
a study. They were small, but full of all
that taste and luxury could devise and affec¬
tion and industry preserve. A broad writ¬
ing-table occupied the place of honour. It
was arranged so that the light fell conven¬
iently to the hand and head. A large bronze
inkstand formed the centrepiece, with a volu¬
minous blotting-book of simple manufacture
spread open before it. The rest of the table
was occupied by papers on files. The floor,
in spite of the ample waste-paper basket,
was littered with scraps. It was the writing-
table of a public man.

The room was lit by electric light in porta¬
ble shaded lamps. The walls were covered
with shelves, filled with well-used volumes.
To that Pantheon of Literature none were
admitted till they had been read and valued.
It was a various library : the philosophy of
Schopenhauer divided Kant from Hegel,
who jostled the Memoirs of St. Simon and
the latest French novel ; Rasselas and La
Curee lay side by side; eight substantial
volumes of Gibbon’s famous History were

THE MAN OF THE MULTITUDE.

41

not perhaps inappropriately prolonged by a
fine edition of the Decameron ; the Origin
of Species rested by the side of a black-letter
Bible; The Republic maintained an equilib¬
rium with Vanity Fair and the History of
European Morals. A volume of Macaulay’s
Essays lay on the writing-table itself ; it was
open, and that sublime passage whereby the
genius of one man has immortalised the
genius of another was marked in pencil.
And history , while for the warning of
vehement , high, and daring natures , she notes
his many errors , will yet deliberately pro¬
nounce that among the eminent men whose
bones lie near his , scarcely one has left a more
stainless , and none a more splendid name.

A half-empty box of cigarettes stood on a
small table near a low leathern armchair, and
by its side lay a heavy army-revolver, against
the barrel of which the ashes of many ciga¬
rettes had been removed. In the corner of
the room stood a small but exquisite Capito-
line Venus, the cold chastity of its colour
reproaching the allurements of its form. It
was the chamber of a philosopher, but of no

42

THE MAN OF THE MULTITUDE.

frigid, academic recluse ; it was the chamber
of a man, a human man, who appreciated all
earthly pleasures, appraised them at their
proper worth, enjoyed, and despised them.

There were still some papers and tele¬
grams lying unopened on the table, but
Savrola was tired ; they could, or at any rate
should wait till the morning. He dropped
into his chair. Yes, it had been a long day,
and a gloomy day. He was a young man,
only thirty-two, but already he felt the effects
of work and worry. His nervous tempera¬
ment could not fail to be excited by the vivid
scenes through which he had lately passed,
and the repression of his emotion only heated
the inward fire. Was it worth it? The
struggle, the labour, the constant rush of
affairs, the sacrifice of so many things that
make life easy, or pleasant — for what? A
peoples good! That, he could not disguise
from himself, was rather the direction than
the cause of his efforts. Ambition was the
motive force, and he was powerless to resist
it. He could appreciate the delights of an
artist, a life devoted to the search for beauty,

THE MAN OF THE MULTITUDE.

43

or of sport, the keenest pleasure that leaves
no sting behind. To live in dreamy quiet
and philosophic calm in some beautiful
garden, far from the noise of men and with
every diversion that art and intellect could
suggest, was, he felt, a more agreeable picture.
And yet he knew that he could not endure
it. ‘Vehement, high, and daring’ was his
cast of mind. The life he lived was the only
one he could ever live ; he must go on to the
end. The end comes often early to such
men, whose spirits are so wrought that they
know rest only in action, contentment in
danger, and in confusion find their only
peace.

His thoughts were interrupted by the
entrance of the old woman with a tray. He
was tired, but the decencies of life had to be
observed ; he rose, and passed into the inner
room to change his clothes and make his
toilet. When he returned, the table was
laid; the soup he had asked for had been
expanded by the care of his housekeeper
into a more elaborate meal. She waited on
him, plying him the while with questions

44

THE MAN OF THE MULTITUDE.

and watching his appetite with anxious
pleasure. She had nursed him from his
birth up with a devotion and care which
knew no break. It is a strange thing, the
love of these women. Perhaps it is the only
disinterested affection in the world. The
mother loves her child; that is maternal
nature. The youth loves his sweetheart ;
that too may be explained. The dog loves
his master; he feeds him; a man loves his
friend ; he has stood by him perhaps at
doubtful moments. In all there are reasons;
but the love of a foster-mother for her
charge appears absolutely irrational. It is
one of the few proofs, not to be explained
even by the association of ideas, that the
nature of mankind is superior to mere utili¬
tarianism, and that his destinies are h i sfh .

The light and frugal supper finished, the
old woman departed with the plates, and
he fell to his musings again. Several diffi¬
cult affairs impended in the future, about
the conduct of which he was doubtful. He
dismissed them from his mind ; why should
he be always oppressed with matters of fact?

THE MAN OF THE MULTITUDE.

45

What of the night ? He rose, walked to
the window, and drawing the curtains looked
out. The street was very quiet, but in the
distance he thought he heard the tramp of a
patrol. All the houses were dark and sul¬
len ; overhead the stars shone brightly ; it
was a perfect night to watch them.

He closed the window and taking a can¬
dle walked to a curtained door on one side
of the room ; it opened on a narrow, spiral
stair which led to the flat roof. Most of the
houses in Laurania were low, and Savrola
when he reached the leads overlooked the
sleeping city. Lines of gas-lamps marked
the streets and squares, and brighter dots
indicated the positions of the shipping in
the harbour. But he did not long look at
these ; he was for the moment weary of men
and their works. A small glass observatory
stood in one corner of this aerial platform,
the nose of the telescope showing through
the aperture. He unlocked the door and
entered. This was a side of his life that the
world never saw ; he was no mathematician
intent on discovery or fame, but he loved to

46 THE MAN OF THE MULTITUDE.

watch the stars for the sake of their mys¬
teries. By a few manipulations the tele¬
scope was directed at the beautiful planet
of Jupiter, at this time high in the northern
sky. The glass was a powerful one, and the
great planet, surrounded by his attendant
moons, glowed with splendour. The clock¬
work gear enabled him to keep it under con¬
tinual observation as the earth rolled over
with the hours. Long he watched it, be¬
coming each moment more under the power
of the spell that star-gazing exercises on
curious, inquiring humanity.

At last he rose, his mind still far away
from earth. Molara, Moret, the Party, the
exciting scenes of the day, all seemed misty
and unreal; another world, a world more
beautiful, a world of boundless possibilities,
enthralled his imagination. He thought of
the future of Jupiter, of the incomprehensible
periods of time that would elapse before the
cooling process would render life possible
on its surface, of the slow steady march of
evolution, merciless, inexorable. How far
would it carry them, the unborn inhabitants

THE MAN OF THE MULTITUDE.

47

of an embryo world ? Perhaps only to some
vague distortion of the vital essence ; per¬
haps further than he could dream of. All
the problems would be solved, all the ob¬
stacles overcome ; life would attain perfect
development. And then fancy, overleaping
space and time, carried the story to periods
still more remote. The cooling process
would continue ; the perfect development
of life would end in death ; the whole solar
system, the whole universe itself, would one
day be cold and lifeless as a burned-out
firework.

It was a mournful conclusion. He locked
up the observatory and descended the stairs,
hoping that his dreams would contradict his
thoughts.

CHAPTER IV.

THE DEPUTATION.

It was the President’s custom to rise
early, but before doing so he invariably
received the newspapers and read such
remarks as dealt with the policy of the
Government or criticised its actions. This
morning his literature was exceptionally
plentiful. All the papers had leading arti¬
cles on the restriction of the franchise and
the great riot which had followed its an¬
nouncement. He first opened The Hour,
the organ of orthodox mediocrity, which
usually cautiously supported the Govern¬
ment in consideration of occasional pieces of
news with which it was from time to time
favoured. In a column and a half of print
The Hour gently regretted that the Presi¬
dent had been unable to restore the fran¬
chises unimpaired; it thus gratified the bulk
of its readers. In a second column it ex-

48

THE DEPUTATION.

49

pressed its severe disapproval — (; unqualified
condemnation was the actual term) — of the
disgraceful riot which had led to such de¬
plorable consequences; it thus repaid the
President for sending round the text of the
English note, which had arrived the night
before, and which it printed verbatim with
pomp and circumstance as coming from Our
Special Correspondent in London.

The Courtier, the respectable morning
journal of the upper classes, regretted that
so unseemly a riot should have taken place
at the beginning of the season, and expressed
a hope that it would not in any way impair
the brilliancy of the State Ball which was to
take place on the 7th. It gave an excellent
account of the President’s first ministerial
dinner, with the menu duly appended, and it
was concerned to notice that Senor Louvet,
Minister of the Interior, had been suffering
from an indisposition which prevented his
attending the function. The Diurnal
Gusher, a paper with an enormous circula¬
tion, refrained from actual comments but
published an excellent account of the mas-

50

THE DEPUTATION.

sacre , to the harrowing details of which it
devoted much fruity sentiment and morbid
imagination.

These were practically the organs on
which the Government relied for support,
and the President always read them first to
fortify himself against the columns of abuse
with which the Radical, Popular, and Demo¬
cratic Press saluted him, his Government,
and all his works. The worst result of an
habitual use of strong language is that when
a special occasion really does arise, there is
no way of marking it. The Fabian, The
Sunspot, and The Rising Tide had already
exhausted every epithet in their extensive
vocabularies on other and less important
incidents. Now that a severe fusilade had
been made upon the citizens and an ancient
privilege attacked, they were reduced to
comparative moderation as the only outlet
for their feelings. They had compared the
Head of the State so often and so vividly to
Nero and Iscariot, very much to the advan¬
tage of those worthies, that it was difficult to
know how they could deal with him now.

THE DEPUTATION.

51

They nevertheless managed to find a few
unused expressions, and made a great point
of the Ministerial dinner as being an
instance of his “ brutal disregard of the
commonest instincts of humanity.” The
Sunspot was thought by its readers to have
been particularly happy in alluding to the
ministers as, “Indulging in a foul orgie of
gluttony and dipping their blood-stained
fingers in choice dishes, while the bodies of
their victims lay unburied and unavenged.”

Having finished his perusal the President
pushed the last paper off the bed and
frowned. He cared nothing for criticism,
but he knew the power of the Press and he
knew that it reflected as well as influenced
public opinion. There could be no doubt
that the balance was rising against him.

At breakfast he was moody and silent, and
Lucile tactfully refrained from irritating him
by the laboured commonplaces of matutinal
conversation. By nine o’clock he was always
at work and this morning he began earlier
than usual. The Secretary was already at his
table busily writing when Molara entered.

52

THE DEPUTATION.

He rose and bowed, a formal bow, which
seemed an assertion of equality rather than
a tribute of respect. The President nodded
and walked to his table on which such parts
of correspondence as needed his personal
attention were neatly arranged. He sat
down and began to read. Occasionally he
uttered an exclamation of assent or disap¬
proval, and his pencil was often employed
to express his decisions and opinions. From
time to time Miguel collected the papers he
had thus dealt with and carried them to the
inferior secretaries in the adjoining room,
whose duty it was to elaborate into the stately
pomposity of official language such phrases
as “ Curt Refusal ” “ Certainly not ” “ Apply
to War Office” “Gushing Reply” “I do
not agree ” “ See last year’s Report.”

Lucile also had letters to read and write.
Having finished these she determined to take
a drive in the park. For the last few weeks,
since, in fact, they had returned from their
summer residence, she had discontinued what
had been in former years her usual practice ;
but after the scenes and riots of the day be-

THE DEPUTATION.

53

fore she felt it her duty to display a courage
which she did not feel. It might help her
husband, for her beauty was such that an
artistic people invariably showed her respect.
It could at least do no harm, and besides she
was weary of the palace and its gardens.
With this intention her carriage was ordered
and she was about to enter it, when a young
man arrived at the door. He saluted her
gravely.

It was the boast of the citizens of the Re¬
public of Laurania that they never brought
politics into private life or private life into
politics. How far they justified it will appear
later. The present situation had undoubt¬
edly strained the principle to the full, but
civilities were still exchanged between politi¬
cal antagonists. Lucile, who had known the
great Democrat as a frequent visitor at her
father’s house before the Civil War, and who
had always kept up a formal acquaintance
with him, smiled and bowed in return and
asked whether he came to see the President.

“Yes,” he replied. “I have an appoint¬
ment.”

54

THE DEPUTATION.

“ Public matters I suppose ? ” she inquired
with the suspicion of a smile.

“ Yes,” he repeated somewhat abruptly.

“ How tiresome you all are,” she said
daringly, “ with your public businesses and
solemn looks. I hear nothing but matters
of State from morning till night, and now,
when I fly the palace for an hour’s relaxation,
they meet me at the very door.”

Savrola smiled. It was impossible to re¬
sist her charm. The admiration he had
always felt for her beauty and her wit asserted
itself in spite of the watchful and determined
state of mind into which he had thrown him¬
self as a preparation for his interview with
the President. He was a young man, and
Jupiter was not the only planet he admired.
“Your Excellency,” he said, “ must acquit
me of all intention.”

“ I do, ’ she answered laughing, “ and re¬
lease you from all further punishment.”

She signed to the coachman and bowing,
drove off.

He entered the palace and was ushered by
a footman resplendent in the blue and buff

THE DEPUTATION.

55

liveries of the Republic, into an ante-room.
A young officer of the Guard, the Lieutenant
who had commanded the escort on the pre¬
vious day, received him. The President
would be disengaged in a few minutes. The
other members of the deputation had not yet
arrived; in the meantime would he take a
chair ? The Lieutenant regarded him dubi¬
ously, as one might view some strange ani¬
mal, harmless enough to look at, but about
whose strength, when roused, there were ex¬
traordinary stories. He had been brought
up in the most correct regimental ideas : the
people (by which he meant the mob) were
“ swine ” ; their leaders were the same, with
an adjective prefixed ; democratic institutions,
Parliament, and such like, were all “ rot.”
It therefore appeared that he and Savrola
would find few topics in common. But be¬
sides his good looks and good manners, the
young soldier had other attainments; his
men knew him as “ all right ” and “ all there,”
while the Lancers of the Guard polo team
regarded him as a most promising player.

Savrola, whose business it was to know

56

THE DEPUTATION.

everything, inquired respecting the project
lately mooted by the Lauranian Cavalry of
sending a polo team to England to compete
in the great annual tournament at Hurling-
ham. Lieutenant Tiro (for that was his
name) addressed himself to the subject with
delight. They disputed as to who should
be taken as “ back.” The discussion was
only interrupted by the entrance of the
Mayor and Renos, and the Subaltern went
off to inform the President that the depu¬
tation waited.

“I will see them at once,” said Molara;
“show them up here.”

The deputation were accordingly con¬
ducted up the stairs to the President’s pri¬
vate room. He rose and received them with
courtesy. Godoy stated the grievances of
the citizens. He recalled the protests they
had made against the unconstitutional gov¬
ernment of the last five years, and their de¬
light at the President’s promise to call the
Estates together. He described their bitter
disappointment at the restriction of the fran¬
chise, and their keen desire that it should

THE DEPUTATION.

57

be fully restored. He dilated on their in¬
dignation at the cruelty with which the
soldiers had shot down unarmed men, and
finally declared that, as Mayor, he could not
vouch for their continued loyalty to the
President or their respect for his person.
Renos spoke in the same strain, dwelling
particularly on the legal aspect of the Presi¬
dent’s late action, and on the gravity of
its effects as a precedent to posterity.

Molara replied at some length. He
pointed out the disturbed state of the
country, and particularly of the capital ; he
alluded to the disorders of the late war
and the sufferings it had caused to the
mass of the people. What the State wanted
was strong stable government. As things
became more settled the franchise should
be extended until it would ultimately be
completely restored. In the meanwhile,
what was there to complain about? Law
and order were maintained; the public ser¬
vice was well administered ; the people en¬
joyed peace and security. More than that,
a vigorous foreign policy held the honour of

THE DEPUTATION.

58

the country high. They should have an
instance.

He turned and requested Miguel to read
the reply to the English note on the Afri¬
can Dispute. The Secretary stood up and
read the paper in question, his soft, purring
voice, proving well suited to emphasising
the insults it contained.

“And that, Gentlemen,” said the Presi¬
dent, when it was finished, “is addressed
to one of the greatest military and naval
powers in the world.”

Godoy and Renos were silent. Their
patriotism was roused ; their pride was
gratified; but Savrola smiled provokingly.
“ It will take more than despatches,” he said,
“ to keep the English out of the African
sphere, or to reconcile the people of Lau-
rania to your rule.”

“ And if stronger measures 1 should be
necessary,” said the President, “ rest assured
they will be taken.”

“ After the events of yesterday we need no
such assurance.”

The President ignored the taunt. “ I

THE DEPUTATION.

59

know the English Government,” he con¬
tinued ; “ they will not appeal to arms.”

“ And I,” said Savrola, “ know the Lau-
ranian people. I am not so confident.”

There was a long pause. Both men faced
each other, and their eyes met. It was the
look of two swordsmen who engage, and it
was the look of two bitter enemies ; they
appeared to measure distances and calculate
chances. Then Savrola turned away, the
ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips ;
but he had read the President’s heart and
he felt as if he had looked into hell.

“ It is a matter of opinion, Sir,” said Molara
at last.

“ It will soon be a matter of history.”

“ Other tales will have to be told before,”
said the President, and then with great for¬
mality, “ I am obliged to you, Mr. Mayor
and Gentlemen, for representing the danger¬
ous elements of disorder which exist among
certain classes of the people. You may rely
on every precaution being taken to prevent
an outbreak. I beg you will keep me further
informed. Good morning.”

6o

THE DEPUTATION.

The only course open appeared to be the
door, and the deputation withdrew, after
Savrola had thanked the President for his
audience and had assured him that he would
lose no opportunity of bringing home to him
the hostile attitude of the citizens. On the
way down-stairs they were met by Lucile,
who had returned unexpectedly early from
her drive. She saw by the expression of
their faces that a heated discussion had
taken place. Godoy and Renos she passed
unnoticed, but she smiled merrily at Savrola,
as if to convey to him that she was un¬
interested by politics and could not under¬
stand how people ever managed to get
excited about them. The smile did not
deceive him ; he knew too much of her tastes
and talents, but he admired her all the more
for her acting.

He walked home. The interview had not
been altogether unsatisfactory. He had never
hoped to convince the President; that indeed
was hardly likely ; but they had expressed
the views of the people, and Godoy and
Renos had already sent copies of their re-

THE DEPUTATION.

6l

marks to the newspapers, so that the party
could not complain of their leaders’ inaction
at such a crisis. He thought he had fright¬
ened Molara, if indeed it were possible to
frighten such a man ; at any rate he had
made him angry. When he thought of this
he was glad. Why ? He had always hith¬
erto repressed such unphilosophic and futile
emotions so far as possible, but somehow to¬
day he felt his dislike of the President was
invested with a darker tinge. And then his
mind reverted to Lucile. What a beautiful
woman she was ! How full of that instinc¬
tive knowledge of human feelings which is
the source of all true wit ! Molara was a
lucky man to have such a wife. Decidedly
he hated him personally, but that, of course,
was on account of his unconstitutional con¬
duct.

When he reached his rooms, Moret was
awaiting him, much excited and evidently
angry. He had written several long letteis
to his leader, acquainting him with his unal¬
terable decision to sever all connection with
him and his party ; but he had torn them all

62

THE DEPUTATION.

up, and was now resolved to tell him in plain
words.

Savrola saw his look. “ Ah, Louis,” he
cried, “ I am glad you are here. How good
of you to come ! I have just left the Presi¬
dent; he is recalcitrant; he will not budge
an inch. I need your advice. What course
shall we adopt ? ”

“ What has happened ? ” asked the young
man, sulkily but curiously.

Savrola related the interview with graphic
terseness. Moret listened attentively and
then said, still with great ill humour, “ Phys¬
ical force is the only argument he under¬
stands. I am for raising the people.”

“ Perhaps you are right,” said Savrola reflec¬
tively, “ I am half inclined to agree with you.”

Moret argued his proposition with vigour
and earnestness, and never had his leader
seemed so agreeable to the violent measures
he proposed. For half an hour they dis¬
cussed the point. Savrola still appeared un¬
convinced ; he looked at his watch. “ It is
past two o’clock,” he said. “ Let us lunch
here and thrash the matter out ”

THE DEPUTATION. 63

They did so. The luncheon was excel¬
lent, and the host’s arguments became more
and more convincing. At last, with the
coffee, Moret admitted that perhaps it was
better to wait, and they parted with great
cordiality.

CHAPTER V.

A PRIVATE CONVERSATION.

“That,” said the President to his confi¬
dential secretary, so soon as the door had
closed on the retiring deputation, “is over,
but we shall have plenty more in the future.
Savrola will most certainly be elected for the
Central Division, and we shall then have the
pleasure of listening to him in the Senate.”

“ Unless,” added Miguel, “ anything should
happen.”

The President, who knew his man well,
understood the implication. “ No, it is no
good ; we cannot do that. Fifty years ago
it might have been possible. People won’t
stand that sort of thing now-a-days ; even
the army might have scruples. So long as
he keeps within the law, I don’t see how we
can touch him constitutionally.”

“ He is a great force, a great force ; some¬
times, I think, the greatest in Laurania.

64

A PRIVATE CONVERSATION. 65

Every day he grows stronger. Presently
the end will come,” said the Secretary slowly
and thoughtfully, who, as the partner of
Molara’s dangers, no less than of his actions,
had a claim to be heard. “ I think the end
is coming,” he continued ; “ perhaps quite
soon — unless - ?” he paused.

“ I tell you it can’t be done. Any acci¬
dent that happened would be attributed to
me. It would mean a revolution here, and
close every asylum abroad.”

“There are other ways besides force, phys¬
ical force.”

“ None that I can see, and he is a strong
man.”

“ So was Samson, nevertheless the Philis¬
tines spoiled him.”

“ Through a woman. I don’t believe he
has ever been in love.”

“ That is no reason against the future.”

“Wanted a Delilah,” said the President
dryly. “ Perhaps you will find one for him.”

The Secretary’s eyes wandered round the
room artlessly, and paused for a moment
on a photograph of Lucile.

66

A PRIVATE CONVERSATION.

“How dare you, Sir! You are a scoun¬
drel! You have not an ounce of virtue in
you ! ”

“We have been associated for some time,
General.” He always called him General
on these occasions, it reminded the Presi¬
dent of various little incidents which had
taken place when they had worked together
during the war. “ Perhaps that is the cause.”

“You are impertinent.”

“ My interests are concerned. I too have
enemies. You know very well how much
my life would be worth without the protec¬
tion of the Secret Police. I only remember
with whom and for whom these things were
done.”

“ Perhaps I am hasty, Miguel, but there is

a limit, even between - ” He was going

to say friends but Miguel interposed accom¬
plices. “ Well,” said Molara, “ I do not care
what you call it. What is your proposition ? ”

“ The Philistines,” replied Miguel, “spoiled
Samson, but Delilah had to cut his hair first.”

Do you mean that she should implore
him to hold his hand?”

A PRIVATE CONVERSATION. 67

“ No, I think that would be useless, but
if he were compromised - ”

“ But she, she would not consent. It
would involve her.”

“ She need not necessarily know. An¬
other object for making his acquaintance
might be suggested. It would come as a
surprise to her.”

“ You are a scoundrel — an infernal scoun¬
drel,” said the President quietly.

Miguel smiled, as one who receives a
compliment. “ The matter,” he said, “ is too
serious for the ordinary rules of decency
and honour. Special cases demand special
remedies.”

“ She would never forgive me.”

“ The forgiveness would rest with you.
Your charity would enable you to pardon an
uncommitted crime. You have only to play
the jealous husband and own your mistake
later on.”

“ And he ? ”

“ Fancy the great popular leader. Patriot,
Democrat, what not, discovered fawning to
the tyrant’s wife! Why, the impropriety

68

A PRIVATE CONVERSATION

alone would disgust many. And more than
that, — observe him begging for mercy,
grovelling at the President’s feet, — a pretty
picture ! It would ruin him ; ridicule alone
would kill him.”

“ It might,” said Molara. The picture
pleased him.

“ It must. It is the only chance that I can
see, and it need cost you nothing. Every
woman is secretly flattered by the jealousy of
the man she loves, even if he be her husband.”

“ How do you know these things ? ” asked
Molara, looking at the ugly pinched figure
and glistening hair of his companion.

11 1 know,” said Miguel with a grin of odious
pride. The suggestion of his appetites was
repulsive. The President was conscious of
disgust. “ Mr. Secretary Miguel,” he said
with the air of one who has made up his
mind, “ I must request you not to speak to
me of this matter again. I consider it shows
less to the advantage of your heart than of
your head.”

“ I see by Your Excellency’s manner that
further allusion is unnecessary.”

A PRIVATE CONVERSATION. 69

“ Have you the report of the Agricultural
Committee for last year ? Good, — please
have a precis made of it; I want some facts.
The country may be kept, even if we lose
the capital ; that means a good part of the
army.”

Thus the subject dropped. Each under¬
stood the other, and behind lay the spur of
danger.

After the President had finished the morn¬
ing’s business, he rose to leave the room, but
before he did so he turned to Miguel and
said abruptly : “ It would be a great conven¬
ience for us to know what course the Oppo¬
sition intends to pursue on the opening of
the Senate, would it not ? ”

“ Assuredly.”

“ How can we induce Savrola to speak ?
He is incorruptible.”

“ There is another method.”

“ I tell you physical force is not to be
thought of.”

“ There is another method.”

“And that,” said the President, “I directed
you not to speak of again.”

70

A PRIVATE CONVERSATION.

“ Precisely,” said the Secretary, and re¬
sumed his writing.

The garden into which Molara walked
was one of the most beautiful and famous in
a country where all vegetation attained luxu¬
riant forms. The soil was fertile, the sun
hot, and the rains plentiful. It displayed an
attractive disorder. The Lauranians were
no admirers of that peculiar taste which finds
beauty in the exact arrangement of an equal
number of small trees of symmetrical shape
in mathematical designs, or in the creation
of geometrical figures by means of narrow
paths with box-hedges. They were an un¬
enlightened people, and their gardens dis¬
played a singular contempt for geometry and
precision. Great blazes of colour arranged
in pleasing contrasts were the lights, and
cool green arbours the shades of their rural
pictures. Their ideal of gardening was to
make every plant grow as freely as if directed
by nature, and to as high perfection as if
cultivated by art. If the result was not
artistic, it was at least beautiful.

The President, however, cared very little

A PRIVATE CONVERSATION. 7 1

for flowers or their arrangement; he was,
he said, too busy a man to have anything
to do with the beauties of colour, harmony,
or line. Neither the tints of the rose nor
the smell of the jasmine awakened in him
more than the rudimentary physical pleas¬
ures which are natural and involuntary. He
liked to have a good flower garden, because
it was the right thing to have, because it
enabled him to take people there and talk
to them personally on political matters, and
because it was convenient for afternoon re¬
ceptions. But he himself took no interest
in it. The kitchen garden appealed to him
more ; his practical soul rejoiced more in
an onion than an orchid.

He was full of thought after his conver¬
sation with Miguel, and turned down the
shady path which led to the fountains with
long, hasty strides. Things were looking
desperate. It was, as Miguel had said, a
question of time, unless, — unless Savrola
were removed or discredited. He refrained
from precisely formulating the idea that had
taken possession of his mind. He had done

72 A PRIVATE CONVERSATION.

many things in the rough days of the war
when he was a struggling man, the memory
of which was not pleasant. He remem¬
bered a brother officer, a rising man, the
colonel of a regiment, who had been a
formidable rival; at a critical moment he
had withheld the supports, and left it to
the enemy to remove one obstacle from his
path. Then another tale came into his
mind which also was not a pretty one, a
tale of a destroyed treaty, and a broken
truce; of men, who had surrendered to
terms, shot against the wall of the fort
they had held so long. He also recalled
with annoyance the methods he had adopted
to extract information from the captured
spy ; five years of busy life, of success and
fortune, had not obscured the memory of
the man’s face as it writhed in suffering.
But this new idea seemed the most odious
of all. He was unscrupulous, but like many
men in history or modern life, he had tried
to put away a discreditable past. Hence¬
forth, he had said when he obtained power,
he would abandon such methods : they

A PRIVATE CONVERSATION.

73

would no longer be necessary ; and yet,
here was the need already. Besides, Lucile
was so beautiful ; he loved her in his hard
way for that alone ; and she was such a
consort, so tactful, so brilliant, that he ad¬
mired and valued her from a purely official
standpoint. If she ever knew, she would
never forgive him. She never should know,
but still he hated the idea.

But what other course remained? He
thought of the faces of the crowd the day
before ; of Savrola ; of the stories which
reached him from the army; of other tales
of a darker and more mysterious kind, —
tales of strange federations and secret so¬
cieties, which suggested murder, as well as
revolution. The tide was rising ; it was
dangerous to tarry.

And then the alternative presented it¬
self; flight, abdication, a squalid existence
in some foreign country, despised, insulted,
suspected ; and exiles always lived to a
great age he had heard. He would not
think of it ; he would die first ; nothing
but death should drag him from the palace,

74 A PRIVATE CONVERSATION.

and he would fight to the last. His mind
returned to the starting point of his reflec¬
tions. Here was a chance, the one solu¬
tion which seemed possible ; it was not an
agreeable one, but it was that or none. He
had reached the end of the path and turn¬
ing the corner saw Lucile seated by the
fountain. It was a beautiful picture.

She saw his preoccupied look and rose to
meet him. “What is the matter, Antonio?
You look worried.”

“ Things are going wrong with us, my
dear. Savrola, the deputation, the news¬
papers, and, above all, the reports I receive
of the people, are ominous and alarming.”

“ I noticed black looks this morning when
I drove. Do you think there is danger ? ”

“ I do,” he answered in his precise official
manner, “ grave danger.”

“ I wish I could help you,” she said, “ but
I am only a woman. What can I do?” He
did not answer and she continued : “ Senor
Savrola is a kind man. I used to know
him quite well before the war.”

“ He will ruin us.”

A PRIVATE CONVERSATION.

75

“ Surely not.”

“We shall have to fly the country, if in¬
deed they allow us to do that.”

She turned paler. “ But I know what
men look like ; there is a sympathy between
us ; he is no fanatic.”

“ There are powers behind and beneath
him of which he knows little, which he can¬
not control, but which he has invoked.”

“ Can you do nothing ? ”

“ I cannot arrest him ; he is too popular,
and besides he has broken no law. He will
go on. In a fortnight are the elections;
he will be returned in spite of my precau¬
tions ; then the trouble will begin.” He
paused, and then speaking as if to himself
continued : “ If we could learn what he
means to do, perhaps we might defeat
it.”

“ Can I not help you ? ” she asked quickly.
“I know him; I think he likes me. He
might whisper to me what he would not tell
to others.” She thought of many victories
in the past.

“ My darling,” said Molara, “ why should

76

A PRIVATE CONVERSATION.

you spoil your life by mixing in the darker
side of politics ? I would not ask you.”

“ But I want to. I will try if it would help
you.”

“ It might do much more.”

“Very well, I will find out for you; in a
fortnight you shall know. He must come
to the State Ball ; I will meet him there.”

“ I am loth to let you talk to such a man,
but I know your wit, and the need is great.
But will he come ? ”

“ I will write him a note with the invita¬
tion,” she said, “ laugh at politics and advise
him to keep his private life at least free from
them. I think he will come ; if not, I will
find some other way of seeing him.”

Molara looked at her with admiration. At
no time did he love her more than when he
realised of what use she was to him. “ I
leave it to you, then. I fear you will fail,
but if you can do it, you may have saved
the State. If not, no harm will have been
done.”

“ I shall succeed,” she answered confidently,
and rising from her seat began to walk

A PRIVATE CONVERSATION.

77

towards the house. She saw from her hus¬
band’s manner that he would like to be
alone.

He remained seated there for a long time,
staring into the water in which the fat, lazy,
goldfish swam placidly. His face wore the
expression of one who has swallowed some
nasty thing.

CHAPTER VI.

ON CONSTITUTIONAL GROUNDS.

The sagacious founders of the Lauranian
Republic had recognised the importance of
preserving and promoting the practice of
social civilities between the public pien of the
State, irrespective of party. It had therefore
long been the custom for the President to
give several official entertainments during
the autumn season, to which all the distin¬
guished characters of either side were invited,
and which it was considered etiquette to
attend. This year feeling ran so high and
relations were so strained that Savrola had
decided not to accept, and had already for¬
mally declined the invitation ; he was there¬
fore not a little surprised when he received a
second card, and still more when he read
Lucile’s note which accompanied it.

He saw she had exposed herself to a re¬
buff with her eyes open, and wondered why

78 -

ON CONSTITUTIONAL GROUNDS.

79

she had done so. Of course she counted on
her charms. It is hard, if not impossible, to
snub a beautiful woman ; they remain beau¬
tiful and the rebuke recoils. He miofht in-
deed have made political capital out of so
pressing an invitation sent at such a critical
time ; but he felt she had judged him well,
and knew she was safe at least from that.
This pleased him. He was sorry he could
not go; but he had made up his mind, and
sat down to write and decline. Half way
through the letter, he paused ; the thought
occurred to him, that perhaps she might
stand in need of his help. He read the
letter again and fancied, though the words
did not warrant it, that he detected a note
of appeal. And then he began to look for
reasons for changing his mind : the old
established custom ; the necessity of showing
his followers that for the present he was in
favour of constitutional agitation only; the
opportunity of displaying his confidence in
the success of his plans ; in fact, every argu¬
ment, but the true one, was arrayed against
his determination.

80 ON CONSTITUTIONAL GROUNDS.

Yes, he would go : the party might object,
but he did not care; it was none of their
business, and he was strong enough to face
their displeasure. These reflections were
interrupted by the entrance of Moret, his
face glowing with enthusiasm.

“ The Central Division Committee have
nominated you unanimously as their candi¬
date at the elections. The Dictator’s pup¬
pet, Tranta, was howled down. I have
arranged for a public meeting on Thursday
night for you to address. We are on the
crest of the wave ! ”

“ Capital ! ” said Savrola. “ I had expected
to be nominated ; our influence in the capi¬
tal is supreme. I am glad of an opportu¬
nity of speaking ; I have not had a meeting
for some time, and there is a good deal to
talk about just now. What day did you
say you had arranged it for ? ”

“ Thursday in the City-Hall at eight in
the evening,” said Moret, who, though san¬
guine, was not unbusiness-like.

“ Thursday ? ”

“ Yes, you are not engaged anywhere.”

ON CONSTITUTIONAL GROUNDS.

8 1

“ Well,” said Savrola speaking slowly and
appearing to weigh his words, “ Thursday
is the night of the State Ball.”

“ I know,” said Moret, “ that was why I
arranged it so. They will feel they are
dancing on a volcano; only a mile from
the palace will be the people, massed,
agreed, determined. Molara will not enjoy
his evening ; Louvet will not go ; Sorrento
will be making arrangements to massacre,
if necessary. It will spoil the festivities ;
they will all see the writing on the wall.”
“ Thursday will not do, Moret.”

“Not do! Why not?”

“ Because I am going to the ball that
night,” said Savrola deliberately.

Moret gasped. “ What,” he cried, “ you ! ”
“ Most certainly I shall go. The ancient
customs of the State cannot be set aside
like this. It is my duty to go ; we are fight¬
ing for the Constitution, and we are bound
to show our respect for its principles.”

“You will accept Molara’s hospitality,
enter his house, — eat his food ? ’

“ No,” said Savrola; “ I shall eat the food

82

ON CONSTITUTIONAL GROUNDS.

provided by the State. As you well know,
the expenses of these official functions are
chargeable to the public.”

“ You will talk to him ? ”

“ Certainly, but he will not enjoy it.”

“ You will insult him, then ? ”

“ My dear Moret, what should make you
think that ? I shall be very civil. That
will frighten him most of all ; he will not
know what is impending.”

“You cannot go,” said Moret decidedly.

“ Indeed I am going.”

“ Think what the Trade-Unions will say.”

“ I have thought about all these things
and have made up my mind,” said Savrola.
“They may say what they like. It will
show them that I do not intend to discard
Constitutional methods for a long time yet.
These people want their enthusiasm cool¬
ing from time to time; they take life too
seriously.”

“ They will accuse you of betraying the
cause.”

“ I have no doubt stupid people will make
characteristic remarks, but I trust none of

ON CONSTITUTIONAL GROUNDS. 83

my friends will bore me by repeating them
to me.”

“ What will Strelitz say ? It will very likely
make him cross the frontier with his fol¬
lowers. He thinks we are lukewarm, and has
been growing more impatient every week.”

“ If he comes before we are ready to help,
the troops will make short work of him and
his rabble. But he has definite orders from
me and will, I hope, obey them.”

“You are doing wrong, and you know
it,” said Moret harshly and savagely ; “ to
say nothing of the contemptible humilia¬
tion of cringing to your enemy.”

Savrola smiled at his follower’s anger.
“ Oh,” he said, “ I shall not cringe. Come,
you have not yet seen me do that,” and he
put his hand on his companion’s arm. “ It
is strange, Louis,” he continued, “ that we
differ in so many things, and yet, if I were
in difficulty and doubt, there is no one to
whom I would go sooner than to you. We
squabble about trifles, but if it were a great
matter, your judgment should rule me, and
you know it well.”

84 ON CONSTITUTIONAL GROUNDS.

Moret yielded. He always yielded to Sav-
rola when he talked like that. “ Well,” he
said, “ when will you speak ? ”

“ Whenever you like.”

“ Friday, then, the sooner the better.”

“Very well; do you make the arrange¬
ments ; I will find something to say.”

“ I wish you were not going,” said Moret,
reverting to his former objection ; “ nothing
on earth would induce me to go.”

“ Moret,” said Savrola with strange ear¬
nestness, “ we have settled that ; there are
other things to talk about. I am troubled
in my mind. There is an undercurrent of
agitation, the force of which I cannot gauge.
I am the acknowledged leader of the party,
but sometimes I realise that there are agen¬
cies at work, which I do not control. That
secret society they call the League is an un¬
known factor. I hate that fellow, that Ger¬
man fellow, Kreutze, Number One as he
styles himself. He is the source of all the
opposition I encounter in the party itself;
the Labour Delegates all seem to be under
his influence. Indeed there are moments

ON CONSTITUTIONAL GROUNDS. 85

when I think that you and I and Godoy and
all who are striving for the old Constitution,
are but the political waves of a social tide
that is flowing we know not whither. Per¬
haps I am wrong, but I keep my eyes open
and their evidence makes me thoughtful.
The future is inscrutable but appalling ; you
must stand by me. When I can no longer
restrain and control, I will no longer lead.”

“ The League is nothing,” said Moret,
“ but a small anarchist group, who have
thrown in their lot, for the present, with us.
You are the indispensable leader of the party ;
you have created the agitation, and it is in
your hands to stimulate or allay it. There
are no unknown forces ; you are the motive
power.”

Savrola walked to the window. “ Look
out over the city,” he said. “It is a great
mass of buildings; three hundred thousand
people live there. Consider its size; think
of the latent potentialities it contains, and
then look at this small room. Do you think
I am what I am, because I have changed all
those minds, or because I best express their

86

ON CONSTITUTIONAL GROUNDS.

views ? Am I their master or their slave ?
Believe me, I have no illusions, nor need
you.”

His manner impressed his follower. It
almost seemed to him, as he watched the city
and listened to Savrola’s earnest words, that
he heard the roar of a multitude, distant, sub¬
dued, but intense as the thunder of the surf
upon a rocky coast when the wind is off the
sea. He did not reply. His highly wrought
temperament exaggerated every mood and
passion ; he always lived in the superlative.
He had no counterpoise of healthy cynicism.
Now he was very solemn, and bidding Sav-
rola good-morning, walked slowly down the
stairs, swayed by the vibrations of a power¬
ful imagination which had been stimulated
to an extreme.

Savrola lay back in his chair. His first
inclination was to laugh, but he realised that
his mirth would not be entirely at Moret’s
expense. He had tried to trick himself as
well, but the parts of that subtle brain were
too intimately connected to have secrets from
one another. Still he would not allow them

ON CONSTITUTIONAL GROUNDS. 87

to formulate the true reason of his change
of mind. It was not so, he said to himself
several times, and even if it were it was of
no importance and signified nothing. He
took a cigarette from his case, and lighting it,
watched the coiling rings of smoke.

How much of what he had said had he
believed ? He thought of Moret’s serious
face ; that was not entirely produced by his
influence. The young revolutionist had
noticed something too, but had feared, or
failed, to reduce his impressions to words.
There was an undercurrent then ; there were
many dangers ahead. Well, he did not care ;
he was confident in his own powers. As the
difficulties arose, he would meet them ; when
dangers threatened he would overcome them.
Horse, foot, and artillery, he was a man, a
complete entity. Under any circumstances,
in any situation he knew himself a factor to
be reckoned with ; whatever the game, he
would play it to his amusement, if not to his
advantage.

The smoke of his cigarette curled round
his head. Life, — how unreal, how barren,

88 ON CONSTITUTIONAL GROUNDS.

and yet, how fascinating! Fools, calling
themselves philosophers, had tried to bring
home the bitter fact to men. His philosophy
lent itself to a pious fraud — taught him to
minimise the importance of his pains, and to
magnify that of his pleasures; made life de¬
lightful and death incidental. Zeno had
shown him how to face adversity, and Epicu¬
rus how to enjoy pleasure. He basked in
the smiles of fortune, and shrugged his
shoulders at the frowns of fate. His exist¬
ence, or series of existences, had been agree¬
able. All that he remembered had been
worth living. If there was a future state, if
the game was to begin again elsewhere, he
would take a hand. He hoped for immor¬
tality, but he contemplated annihilation with
composure. Meanwhile the business of liv¬
ing was an interesting problem. His speech,
— he had made many and knew that nothing
good can be obtained without effort. These
impromptu feats of oratory existed only in
the minds of the listeners; the flowers of
rhetoric were hothouse plants.

What was there to say ? Successive

ON CONSTITUTIONAL GROUNDS. 89

cigarettes had been mechanically consumed.
Amid the smoke he saw a peroration, which
would cut deep into the hearts of a crowd;
a high thought, a fine simile, expressed in
that correct diction which is comprehensi¬
ble even to the most illiterate, and appeals
to the most simple; something to lift their
minds from the material cares of life and
to awake sentiment. His ideas began to
take the form of words, to group them¬
selves into sentences ; he murmured to him¬
self ; the rhythm of his own language swayed
him ; instinctively he alliterated. Ideas suc¬
ceeded one another, as a stream flows swiftly
by and the light changes on its waters. He
seized a piece of paper and began hurriedly
to pencil notes. That was a point; could
not tautology accentuate it? He scribbled
down a rough sentence, scratched it out,
polished it, and wrote it in again. The
sound would please their ears, the sense
improve and stimulate their minds. What
a game it was ! His brain contained the
cards he had to play, the world the stakes
he played for.

90 ON CONSTITUTIONAL GROUNDS.

As he worked, the hours passed away.
The housekeeper entering with his luncheon
found him silent and busy; she had seen
him thus before and did not venture to in¬
terrupt him. The untasted food grew cold
upon the table, as the hands of the clock
moved slowly round marking the measured
tread of time. Presently he rose, and, com¬
pletely under the influence of his own
thoughts and language, began to pace the
room with short rapid strides, speaking to
himself in a low voice and with great em¬
phasis. Suddenly he stopped, and with a
strange violence his hand descended on the
table. It was the end of the speech.

The noise recalled him to the common¬
places of life. He was hungry and tired,
and with a laugh at his own enthusiasm sat
down at the table and began his neglected
luncheon.

A dozen sheets of note paper, covered
with phrases, facts, and figures, were the
result of the morning’s work. They lay
pinned together on the table, harmless in¬
significant pieces of paper ; and yet Antonio

ON CONSTITUTIONAL GROUNDS.

91

Molara, President of the Republic of Lau-
rania, would have feared a bombshell less.
Nor would he have been either a fool or
a coward.

CHAPTER VII.

THE STATE BALL.

The palace of Laurania was admirably
suited to the discharge of the social cere¬
monies of the State. The lavish expenditure
on public entertainments, which the consti¬
tutional practice encouraged, allowed the
hospitalities of the Republic to be extended
upon the most magnificent scale. The open¬
ing State Ball of the season was in many
ways the most important of these affairs. It
was at this function that the great men of
both parties met, for the first time after the
summer heats, before the autumn session,
and the brilliant society of the capital re¬
united after their absence in their country
and mountain villas. Taste, elegance, and
magnificence were equally displayed. The
finest music, the best champagne, the most
diverse, yet select, company were among the
attractions of the evening. The spacious

92

THE STATE BALL.

93

courtyard of the palace was completely cov¬
ered by a gigantic awning. Rows of the
Infantry of the Guard lined the approaches,
and with their bright steel bayonets increased
the splendour and the security of the occa¬
sion. The well-lit streets were crowded with
the curious populace. The great hall of the
palace, at all times imposing and magnificent,
displayed a greater pomp when filled with a
gaily dressed company.

At the head of the stairs stood the Presi¬
dent and his wife, he resplendent in his orders
and medals, she in her matchless beauty.
As the guests ascended, an aide-de-camp, a
gorgeous thing in crimson and gold, inquired
their names and styles and announced them.
Many and various was the company ; every
capital in Europe, every country in the world,
was represented.

The guest of the evening was the King
of Ethiopia, a mass of silk and jewels
framing a black but vivacious face. He
came early, — unwisely as, had he come
later, there would have been a better audi¬
ence to watch his arrival ; however, to his

94

THE STATE BALL.

untutored mind perhaps this was a matter
of little importance.

The Diplomatic Corps followed in a long
succession. Coach after coach drew up at
the entrance and discharged its burden of
polite astuteness, clothed in every conceiva¬
ble combination of gold and colour. Ar¬
rived at the top of the stairs, the Russian
Ambassador, grey but gallant, paused and,
bowing with a stately courtesy, kissed the
hand Lucile extended.

“ The scene is an appropriate setting to
a peerless diamond,” he murmured.

“ Would it sparkle as brightly in the Win¬
ter Palace ? ” inquired Lucile lightly.

“Assuredly the frosty nights of Russia
would intensify its brilliancy.”

“ Among so many others it would be lost.”

“ Among all others it would be unrivalled
and alone.”

“ Ah,” she said, “ I hate publicity, and as
for solitude, frosty solitude, the thought of
it alone makes me shiver.”

She laughed. The diplomatist threw her
a look of admiration, and stepping into the

THE STATE BALL.

95

crowd, that already blocked the head of the
staiis, received and returned the congratu¬
lations of his numerous friends.

Madame Tranta, said the aide-de-camp.

‘ I am so glad to see you,” said Lucile.
“ What a pity your daughter could not
come ; it has been a great disappointment
to many.”

The ugly old woman thus addressed
beamed with delight, and moving up the
stairs pushed her way to the marble balus¬
trade of the balcony. She watched the
later arrivals, and commented freely to her
acquaintance on their dresses and deport¬
ments ; she also gave a little information
about each one, which would have been ill-
natured even had it not been untrue; but
though she told her friends many things,
she did not mention that she had had to
make Tranta write and threaten to desert
the President’s party unless she was asked
to the ball, and that even this had failed
to procure an invitation for her daughter,
an unfortunate girl who added a bad com¬
plexion to the family features.

96

THE STATE BALL.

Louvet came next, looking anxiously at
the crowd of faces which gazed from the
landing, and imagining bombs and daggers
at every step. He regarded Lucile with
apprehension, but her smile seemed to give
him courage and he mingled with the throng.

Then Sir Richard Shalgrove, the British
Ambassador, whose genial and cheery face
displayed an innocence which conti asted
with his reputation, advanced to make his
bow. The strained relations between Lau-
rania and Great Britain seemed to disappear
in that comprehensive salutation. Lucile
engaged him for a moment in conversation ;
she pretended to know little or nothing.
“ And when/’ she asked merrily, “ do we
declare war ? ”

“ Not until after I have had the pleasure of
the third waltz, I hope,” said the Ambassador.

“ How annoying ! I wanted so much to
dance it with you.”

“ And you will not ? ” he asked in great
concern.

“ Dare I plunge two nations into war for
the sake of a waltz ? ”

THE STATE BALL.

97

“ Had you my inducement you would not
hesitate,” he replied gallantly.

“ What, to precipitate hostilities ! What
have we done? What is your great in¬
ducement to fight?”

“ Not to fight, — to dance,” said Sir Rich¬
ard with a little less than his usual assur¬
ance.

“ For a diplomatist you are indeed ex¬
plicit. While you are in so good a mood,
tell me what has happened ; is there danger?”

“Danger? No — how could there be?”
He selected a formula : “ Between tradi¬
tionally friendly powers arbitration settles
all disputes.”

“You realise,” she said earnestly and with
an entire change of manner, “ that we have
to consider the political situation here ? A
strong despatch improves the position of
the Government.”

“ I have felt all through,” said the Am¬
bassador uncompromisingly, “ that there was
no danger .” He did not however mention
that H.M. battleship Aggressor (12,000 tons
displacement and 14,000 horse power, armed

98

THE STATE BALL.

with four 1 1 -inch guns) was steaming eigh¬
teen knots an hour towards the African
port of the Lauranian Republic, or that he
himself had been busy all the afternoon with
cipher telegrams relating to ships, stores,
and military movements. He thought that
would be only boring her with purely tech¬
nical details.

While this conversation had been taking
place, the stream of people had passed con¬
tinuously up the stairs, and the throng on
the wide balcony that ran round the entire
hall had become dense. The wonderful
band was almost drowned by the hum of
conversation; the perfect floor of the ball¬
room was only occupied by a few young
couples whose own affairs absorbed their
minds and excluded all other interests. A
feeling of expectancy pervaded the hall;
the rumour that Savrola would come had
spread far and wide throughout Laurania.

Suddenly everyone became hushed, and
above the strains of the band the distant
sound of shouting was heard. Louder and
louder it swelled, swiftly approaching until

THE STATE BALL.

99

it was at the very gate; then it died away,
and there was a silence through the hall
filled only by the music. Had he been
hooted or cheered ? The sound had seemed
strangely ambiguous ; men were prepared to
wager about it; his face would tell them
the answer.

The swing-doors opened and Savrola en¬
tered. All eyes were turned on him, but
his face showed them nothing, and the bets
remained undecided. As he leisurely as¬
cended the stairs, his eye travelled with
interest round the crowded galleries and the
brilliant throng who lined them. No deco¬
rations, no orders, no star relieved the plain
evening dress he wore. Amid that blaze
of colour, that multitude of gorgeous uni¬
forms, he appeared a sombre figure ; but,
like the Iron Duke in Paris, he looked
the leader of them all, calm, confident, and
composed.

The President walked down a few steps
to meet his distinguished guest. Both bowed
with grave dignity.

“ I am glad you have come, Sir,” said

IOO

THE STATE BALL.

Molara ; “ it is in harmony with the tradi¬
tions of the State.”

“ Duty and inclination combined to point
the way,” answered Savrola with a smile
marked by a suggestion of irony.

“You had no difficulty with the crowd?”
suggested the President acidly.

“ Oh, no difficulty, but they take politics
a little seriously ; they disapproved of my
coming to your palace.”

“You are right to come,” said Molara.
“Now we who are engaged in matters of
State know what these things are worth ;
men of the world do not get excited over
public affairs, nor do gentlemen fight with
bludgeons.”

“ I prefer swords,” said Savrola reflectively.
He had reached the head of the stairs and
Lucile stood before him. What a queen
she looked, how peerless and incomparable
among all women ! The fine tiara she wore
suggested sovereignty, and democrat as he
was, he bowed to that alone. She held out
her hand ; he took it with reverence and
courtesy, but the contact thrilled him.

THE STATE BALL.

IOI

The President selected a fat but famous
woman from the aristocracy of Laurania,
and led the way into the ball-room. Savrola
did not dance ; there were some amusements
which his philosophy taught him to despise.
Lucile was captured by the Russian Ambas¬
sador, and he remained a spectator.

Lieutenant Tiro saw him thus alone and
approached him, wishing to finish their dis¬
cussion about the “ back ” of the polo team,
which had been interrupted the week before.
Savrola received him with a smile ; he liked
the young soldier, as indeed did everyone.
Tiro was full of arguments; he was in favour
of a strong heavy player who should lie
back in the game and take no chances.
Savrola, having remarked on the impor¬
tance of the Lauranian Army being prop¬
erly represented in an international contest,
favoured a light weight, playing right up
to his forwards and ready to take the ball
on himself at any moment. It was an ani¬
mated discussion.

“ Where have you played ? ” asked the
Subaltern, surprised at his knowledge.

102

THE STATE BALL.

“ I have never played the game,” answered
Savrola ; “ but I have always thought it a
good training for military officers.”

The subject was changed.

“Explain to me,” said the great Demo¬
crat, “ what all these different orders are.
What is that blue one that Sir Richard, the
British Ambassador, is wearing? ”

“That is the Garter,” replied the Subaltern;
“ the most honourable order in England.”

“ Really, and what is this that you are
wearing ? ”

“ I ! Oh, that’s the African medal. I was
out there in ’86 and ’87, you know.” As
Savrola had anticipated, he was intensely
pleased at being asked.

“ It must have been a strange experience
for you, who are so young.”

“ H was damned good fun,” said the Sub¬
altern with decision. “ I was at Langi Tab
My squadron had a five-mile pursuit. The
lance is a beautiful weapon. The English
in India have a sport called pig-sticking ;
I have never tried it, but I know a better.”

Well, you may have another chance

THE STATE BALL.

IO3

soon. We seem to be getting into difficul¬
ties with the British Government.”

“ Do you think there is any chance of
war ? ” asked the boy eagerly.

“Well, of course,” said Savrola, “a war
would distract the attention of the people
from internal agitation and the Reform
movement. The President is a clever man.
There might be war. I should not care to
prophesy ; but do you wish for it ? ”

“ Certainly I do ; it is my profession. I
am sick of being a lap-dog in this palace ; I
long for the camp and the saddle again.
Besides, these English will be worth fight¬
ing; they will give us a gallop all right.
There was one of their officers with me at
Langi Tal, a subaltern ; he came as a spec¬
tator searching for adventure.”

“ What happened to him ? ”

“Well, you know, we pursued the enemy
all the way to the hills and played the devil
with them. As we were galloping along,
he saw a lot making off towards a wood,
and wanted to cut them off. I said there
wasn’t time ; he laid me six to four there

104

THE STATE BALL.

was, so I sent a troop, — I was in command
of the squadron that day — you know. He
went with them and showed them the way
straight enough, — but I bore you ? ”

“ On the contrary, I am greatly interested ;
what then ? ”

“He was wrong; the enemy got to the
wood first and picked him off in the open.
Our fellows brought him back, shot through
the big artery of the leg ; that doesn’t take
long, you know. All he said was: ‘Well,
you’ve won, but how the deuce you’ll get
paid, I can’t think. Ask my brother, —
Royal Lancers.’ ”

“ And then ? ” asked Savrola.

“Well, I couldn’t find the artery to com¬
press it, and none of the doctors were about.
He died, — a gallant fellow ! ”

The Subaltern paused, rather ashamed at
having talked so much about his military
adventures. Savrola felt as if he had looked
into a new world, a world of ardent, reckless,
warlike youth. He was himself young
enough to feel a certain jealousy. This boy
had seen what he had not ; he possessed an

THE STATE BALL.

105

experience which taught him lessons Sav-
rola had never learned. Their lives had
been different; but one day perhaps he
would open this strange book of war, and
by the vivid light of personal danger read
the lessons it contained.

Meanwhile the dances had succeeded each
other and the night was passing. The
King of Ethiopia, horrified at the low
dresses of the unveiled women and dread¬
ing the prospect of eating with odious white
people, had taken his departure. The Presi¬
dent, approaching Savrola, invited him to
take his wife down to supper; a procession
was formed ; he offered Lucile his arm and
they descended the stairs. The supper was
excellent: the champagne was dry and the
quails fat. A profusion of rare and beauti¬
ful orchids covered the table ; Savrola’s sur¬
roundings were agreeable, and he sat next
the most beautiful woman in Laurania, who,
though he did not know it, was exerting
herself to captivate him. At first they
talked amusing frivolities. The President,
whose manners were refined, showed him-

io6

THE STATE BALL.

self a pleasant companion and an accom¬
plished talker. Savrola, who delighted in
sparkling conversation, found it difficult to
keep to the part of a purely official visitor
which he had determined to observe. The
influence of wit, wine, and beauty were com¬
bined to break his reserve ; before he knew
it, he had joined in a discussion, one of those
half cynical, half serious discussions which
are characteristic of an age which inquires
because it doubts, and doubts the more
because it has inquired.

The Russian Ambassador had said that
he worshipped beauty, and had told his part¬
ner, the youthful Countess of Ferrol, that he
regarded taking her into dinner as a reli¬
gious observance.

“ I suppose that means you are bored,”
she replied.

“ By no means ; in my religion the cere¬
monies are never dull ; that is one of the
principal advantages I claim for it.”

“ There are few others,” said Molara ;
“ you devote yourself to an idol of your own
creation. If you worship beauty, your god-

THE STATE BALL. 107

dess stands on no surer pedestal than human
caprice. Is it not so, Princess ? ”

The Princess of Tarentum, who was on
the President’s right, replied that even that
foundation was more secure than that on
which many beliefs repose.

“You mean that in your own case human
caprice has been sufficiently constant? I
can well believe it.”

“ No,” she said ; “ I only mean that the
love of beauty is common to all human
beings.”

“To all living things,” corrected Savrola.
“ It is the love of the plant that produces
the flower.”

“ Ah,” said the President, “ but, though
the love of beauty may be constant, beauty
itself may change. Look how everything
changes : the beauty of one age is not the
beauty of the next ; what is admired in
Africa is hideous in Europe. It is all
a matter of opinion, local opinion. Your
goddess, Monsieur, has as many shapes as
Proteus.”

“ I like change,” said the Ambassador.

108 THE STATE BALL.

“ I regard variability of form as a decided
advantage in a goddess. I do not care how
many shapes I look at, so long as all are
beautiful.”

“ But,” interposed Lucile, “ you make no
distinction between what is beautiful and
what we think is beautiful.”

“ There is none,” said the President.

“ In Her Excellency’s case there would be
none,” interposed the Ambassador politely.

“ What is beauty,” said Molara, “ but what
we choose to admire ? ”

“Do we choose? Have we the power?”
asked Savrola.

“ Certainly,” answered the President ; “ and
every year we alter our decisions ; every
year the fashion changes. Ask the ladies.
Look at the fashions of thirty years ago;
they were thought becoming then. Observe
the different styles of painting that have
succeeded each other, or of poetry, or of
music. Besides, Monsieur de Stranoff’s
goddess, though beautiful to him, might not
be so to another.”

“ I regard that also as a real advantage ;

THE STATE BALL.

109

you make me more enamoured with my re¬
ligion each moment. I do not worship my
ideals for the reclame ,” said the Ambassador
with a smile.

“You look at the question from a mate¬
rial point of view.”

“ Material rather than moral,” said Lady
Ferrol.

“ But in the spirit-worship of my goddess
the immorality is immaterial. Besides, if
you say that our tastes are always chang¬
ing, it seems to me that constancy is the
essence of my religion.”

“ That is a paradox which we shall make
you explain,” said Molara.

“Well, you say I change each day, and
my goddess changes too. To-day I admire
one standard of beauty, to-morrow another,
but when to-morrow comes I am no longer
the same person. The molecular structure of
my brain is altered ; my ideas have changed ;
my old self has perished, loving its own
ideal ; the renovated ego starts life with a new
one. It is all a case of wedded till death.”

“You are not going to declare that con-

I IO

THE STATE BALL.

stancy is a series of changes ? You may as
well assert that motion is a succession of
halts.”

“ I am true to the fancy of the hour.”

“You express my views in other words.
Beauty depends on human caprice, and
changes with the times.”

“ Look at that statue,” said Savrola sud¬
denly, indicating a magnificent marble fig¬
ure of Diana which stood in the middle of
the room surrounded by ferns. “ More than
two thousand years have passed since men
called that beautiful. Do we deny it now ? ”
There was no answer and he continued :
“ That is true beauty of line and form, which
is eternal. The other things you have men¬
tioned, fashions, styles, fancies, are but the
unsuccessful efforts we make to attain to
it. Men call such efforts art. Art is to
beauty what honour is to honesty, an un¬
natural allotropic form. Art and honour
belong to gentlemen; beauty and honesty
are good enough for men.”

There was a pause. It was impossible
to mistake the democratic tone; his earnest-

THE STATE BALL.

1 1 I

ness impressed them. Molara looked uneasy.
The Ambassador came to the rescue.

“Well, I shall continue to worship the
goddess of beauty, whether she be constant
or variable ” — he looked at the Countess ;
“ and to show my devotion I shall offer up
a waltz in that sacred fane, the ball-room.”

He pushed his chair back, and, stooping,
picked up his partner’s glove, which had
fallen to the floor. Everyone rose, and
the party separated. As Savrola walked
back to the hall with Lucile, they passed
an open doorway leading to the garden.
A multitude of fairy lights marked out the
flower-beds or hung in festoons from the
trees. The paths were carpeted with red
cloth; a cool breeze fanned their faces.
Lucile paused.

“ It is a lovely night.”

The invitation was plain. She had wanted
to speak to him, then, after all. How right
he was to come, — on constitutional grounds.

“ Shall we go out ? ” he said.

She consented, and they stepped on to the
terrace.

CHAPTER VIII.

“in the starlight.”

The night was very still. The soft breeze
was not strong enough to stir even the
slender palms which rose on all sides, and
whose outlines, above the surrounding foli¬
age, framed the starlit sky. The palace
stood on high ground, and the garden
sloped on the western side towards the
sea. At the end of the terrace was a
stone seat.

“ Let us sit here,” said Lucile.

They sat down. The dreamy music of
a waltz floated down as a distant accom¬
paniment to their thoughts. The windows
of the palace blazed with light and sug¬
gested glitter, glare, and heat; in the gar¬
den all was quiet and cool.

“ Why do you sneer at honour ? ” asked
Lucile, thinking of the interrupted conver¬
sation.

112

“in the starlight.” I 13

“ Because it has no true foundation, no
ultra-human sanction. Its codes are con¬
stantly changing with times and places. At
one time it is thought more honourable to
kill the man you have wronged than to
make amends ; at another it is more impor¬
tant to pay a bookmaker than a butcher.
Like art it changes with human caprice,
and like art it comes from opulence and
luxury.”

“ But why do you claim a higher origin
for beauty and honesty ? ”

“ Because, wherever I have looked, I see
that all things are perpetually referred to
an eternal standard of fitness, and that right
triumphs over wrong, truth over falsehood,
beauty over ugliness. Fitness is the general
expression! Judged by this standard art
and honour have little value.”

“ But are these things so ? ” she asked
wonderingly. “ Surely there are many ex¬
ceptions ? ”

“Nature never considers the individual;
she only looks at the average fitness of the
species. Consider the statistics of mortality.

I 14 “IN the starlight.”

How exact they are : they give to a month
the expectation of life to men ; and yet they
tell a man nothing. We cannot say that
a good man will always overcome a knave ;
but the evolutionist will not hesitate to
affirm that the nation with the highest ideals
would succeed.”

“ Unless,” said Lucile, “some other nation
with lower ideals, but stronger arms, inter¬
venes.”

“ Well, even then might is a form of fit¬
ness ; I think a low form, but still physical
force contains the elements of human prog¬
ress. This is only the instance ; we must
enlarge our view. Nature does not consider
the individual species. All we will now
assert is that organisms imbued with moral
fitness would ultimately rise above those
whose virtue is physical. How many times
has civilisation, by which I mean a state of
society where moral force begins to escape
from the tyranny of physical forces, climbed
the ladder of Progress and been dragged
down? Perhaps many hundred times in
this world alone. But the motive power,

“ IN THE STARLIGHT.” I I 5

the upward tendency, was constant. Evolu¬
tion does not say ‘ always,’ but ‘ ultimately.’
Well, ultimately civilisation has climbed up
beyond the reach of barbarism. The higher
ideals have reached the surface by superior
buoyancy.”

“ Why do you assume that this triumph
is permanent ? How do you know that it
will not be reversed, as all others have
been ? ”

“ Because we have got might on our side,
as well as moral ascendancy.”

“ Perhaps the Romans in the summit of
their power thought that too ?

“Very likely, but without reason. They
had only their swords to fall back upon as
an ultimate appeal ; and when they became
effete they could no longer wield them.”

“ And modern civilisation ? ”

“ Ah, we have other weapons. When we
have degenerated, as we must eventually
degenerate, when we have lost oui intrinsic
superiority, and other races, according to
the natural law, advance to take our place, we
shall fall back upon these weapons. Our

I 16 “in the starlight.”

morals will be gone, but our Maxims will
remain. The effete and trembling Euro¬
pean will sweep from the earth by scientific
machinery the valiant savages who assail
him.”

Is that the triumph of moral superi¬
ority ? ”

“ At first it would be, for the virtues of
civilisation are of a higher type than those
of barbarism. Kindness is better than cour¬
age, and charity more than strength. But
ultimately the dominant race will degener¬
ate, and as there will be none to take its
place, the degeneration must continue. It
is the old struggle between vitality and
decay, between energy and indolence; a
struggle that always ends in silence. After
all, we could not expect human development
to be constant. It is only a question of
time before the planet becomes unfitted to
support life on its surface.”

“ But you said that fitness must ultimately
triumph.”

“ °ver relative unfitness, yes. But decay
will involve all, victors and vanquished. The

IN THE STARLIGHT/'

1 1 7

fire of life will die out, the spirit of vitality
become extinct.”

“ In this world perhaps.”

“ In every world. All the universe is cool¬
ing — dying, that is, — and as it cools, life
for a spell becomes possible on the surface
of its spheres, and plays strange antics.
And then the end comes ; the universe dies
and is sepulchred in the cold darkness of
ultimate negation.”

“To what purpose then are all our
efforts?”

“ God knows,” said Savrola cynically ;
“but I can imagine that the drama would
not be an uninteresting one to watch.”

“ And yet you believe in an ultra-human
foundation, an eternal ideal for such things
as beauty and virtue.”

“ I believe that the superiority of fitness
over relative unfitness is one of the great
laws of matter. I include all kinds of fit¬
ness, — moral, physical, mathematical.”

“ Mathematical ! ”

“ Certainly ; words only exist by conform¬
ing to correct mathematical principles. That

1 18 “in the starlight.”

is one of the great proofs we have that mathe¬
matics has been discovered, not invented.
The planets observe a regular progression
in their distances from the sun. Evolution
su§Ses^s ^at those that did not observe such
principles were destroyed by collisions and
amalgamated with others. It is a universal
survival of the fittest.” She was silent. He
continued: “ Now let us say that in the be¬
ginning there existed two factors, matter ani¬
mated by the will to live, and the eternal
ideal ; the great author and the great critic.
It is to the interplay and counter-action of
these two that all development, that all forms
of life are due. The more the expression of
the will to live approximates to the eternal
standard of fitness, the better it succeeds.”

“ I would add a third,” she said ; “ a great
Being to instil into all forms of life the desire
to attain to the ideal ; to teach them in what
ways they may succeed.”

“ !t is Pleasant,” he replied, “ to think that
such a Being exists to approve our victories,
to cheer our struggles, and to light our way j
but it is not scientifically or logically neces-

“ IN THE STARLIGHT.5’ I 1 9

sary to assume one after the two factors I
have spoken of are once at work.”

“ Surely the knowledge that such an ultra¬
human ideal existed must have been given
from without.”

“No; that instinct which we call con¬
science was derived as all other knowledge
from experience.”

“ How could it be ?”

“ I think of it in this way. When the
human race was emerging from the dark¬
ness of its origin and half animal, half hu¬
man creatures trod the earth, there was no
idea of justice, honesty, or virtue, only the
motive power which we may call the ‘ will
to live.’ Then perhaps it was a minor pecu¬
liarity of some of these early ancestors of
man to combine in twos and threes for their
mutual protection. The first alliance was
made ; the combinations prospered where the
isolated individuals failed. The faculty of
combination appeared to be an element of
fitness. By natural selection only the com¬
binations survived. Thus man became a
social animal. Gradually the little societies

120 “IN the starlight.”

became larger ones. From families to tribes,
and from tribes to nations the species ad¬
vanced, always finding that the better they
combined, the better they succeeded. Now
on what did this system of alliance depend ?
\t depended on the members keeping faith
tvith each other, on the practice of honesty,
justice, and the rest of the virtues. Only
those beings in whom such faculties were
present were able to combine, and thus only
the relatively honest men were preserved.
The process repeated itself countless times
during untold ages. At every step the race
advanced, and at every step the realisation
of the cause increased. Honesty and justice
are bound up in our compositions and form
an inseparable part of our natures. It is
only with difficulty that we repress such
awkward inclinations.”

“ You do not then believe in God? ”

“ 1 never said that,” said Savrola. “ I am
only discussing the question of our existence
from one standpoint, that of reason. There
are many who think that reason and faith,
science and religion, must be everlastingly

I 2 I

“IN the starlight.”

separated, and that if one be admitted the
other must be denied. Perhaps it is because
we see so short a span, that we think that
their lines are parallel and never touch each
other. I always cherish the hope that some¬
where in the perspective of the future there
may be a vanishing point where all lines of
human aspiration will ultimately meet.”

“ And you believe all this that you have
said?”

“ No,” he answered, “ there is no faith
in disbelief, whatever the poets have said.
Before we can solve the problems of exist¬
ence we must establish the fact that we
exist at all. It is a strange riddle, is it not ? ”

“We shall learn the answer when we die.”

“ If I thought that,” said Savrola, “ I
should kill myself to-night out of irresisti¬
ble curiosity.”

He paused, and looked up at the stars,
which shone so brightly overhead. She fol¬
lowed his gaze. “ Y ou like the stars ? ” she
asked.

“ I love them,” he replied ; “ they are very
beautiful.”

122 “IN THE STARLIGHT.”

“ Perhaps your fate is written there.”

“ I have always admired the audacity of
man in thinking that a Supreme Power
should placard the skies with the details
of his squalid future, and that his marriage,
his misfortunes, and his crimes should be
written in letters of suns on the background
of limitless space. We are consequential
atoms.”

“ You think we are of no importance ? ”

“ Life is very cheap. Nature has no ex¬
aggerated idea of its value. I realise my
own insignificance, but I am a philosophic
microbe, and it rather adds to my amuse¬
ment than otherwise. Insignificant or not,
I like living, it is good to think of the
future.”

“ Ah,” said Lucile impetuously, “ whither
are you hurrying us in the future, — to
revolution ? ”

“ Perhaps,” said Savrola calmly.

“ You are prepared to plunge the country
in a civil war ? ”

“Well, I hope it will not come to that
extreme. Probably there will be some

“in the starlight.” 123

street-fighting and some people will be killed,
but - ”

“ But why should you drive them like
this ? ”

“ I discharge a duty to the human species
in breaking down a military despotism. I
do not like to see a Government supported
only by bayonets ; it is an anachronism.”

“The Government is just and firm; it
maintains law and order. Why should you
assail it merely because it does not harmo¬
nise with your theories ? ”

“ My theories ! ” said Savrola. “ Is that
the name you give to the lines of soldiers
with loaded rifles that guard this palace,
or to the Lancers I saw spearing the people
in the square a week ago ? ”

His voice had grown strangely vehement
and his manner thrilled her. “You will
ruin us,” she said weakly.

“ No,” he replied with his grand air, “ you
can never be ruined. Your brilliancy and
beauty will always make you the luckiest
of women, and your husband the luckiest
of men.”

124 “IN THE STARLIGHT."

His great soul was above the suspicion
of presumption. She looked up at him,
smiled quickly, and impulsively held out her
hand. “We are on opposite sides, but we
will fight under the rules of war. I hope

we shall remain friends even though - ”

“ We are officially enemies,” said Savrola,
completing the sentence, and taking her
hand in his he bowed and kissed it. After
that they were both very silent, and walk¬
ing along the terrace re-entered the palace.
Most of the guests had already gone, and
Savrola did not ascend the stairs, but pass¬
ing through the swing-doors took his de¬
parture. Lucile walked up to the ball-room
in which a few youthful and indefatigable
couples were still circling. Molara met her.
“ My dear,” he said, “ where have you been
all this time ? ”

“In the garden,” she replied.

“ With Savrola ? ”

“ Yes.”

The President repressed a feeling of satis¬
faction. “ Did he tell you anything ? ” he
asked.

“in the starlight.” 125

“ Nothing,” she answered, remembering for
the first time the object with which she had
sought the interview; “ I must see him again.”

“You will continue to try and find out
his political intentions?” inquired Molara
anxiously.

“ I shall see him again,” she replied.

“ I trust to your wit,” said the President ;
“ you can do it, if anyone can, my dearest.”

The last dance came to an end and
the last guest departed. Very weary and
thoughtful Lucile retired to her room. Her
conversation with Savrola filled her mind ;
his earnestness, his enthusiasm, his hopes,
his beliefs, or, rather, his disbeliefs, all
passed again in review before her. What
a great man he was! Was it wonderful the
people followed him ? She would like to
hear him speak to-morrow.

Her maid came in to assist her to undress.
She had looked from an upper balcony and
had seen Savrola. “ Was that,” she asked
her mistress curiously, “ the great Agi¬
tator ? ” Her brother was going to hear
him make his speech to-morrow.

126 “in the starlight.”

“ Is he going to make a speech to¬
morrow ? ” asked Lucile.

“ So my brother says,” said the maid ; “ he
says that he is going to give them such a
dressing down they will never forget it”
The maid paid great attention to her broth¬
er’s words, d here was much sympathy be¬
tween them ; in fact she only called him her
brother because it sounded better.

Lucile took up the evening paper which
lay on the bed. There on the first page
was the announcement, the great meeting
would take place at the City- Hall at eight
the next evening. She dismissed the maid
and walked to the window. The silent city
lay before her; to-morrow the man she had
talked with would convulse that city with
excitement. She would go and hear him ;
women went to these meetings; why should
she not go, closely veiled ? After all it would
enable her to learn something of his char¬
acter and she could thus better assist her
husband. With this reflection, which was
extremely comforting, she went to bed.

The President was going up-stairs, when

“in the starlight.” i 27

Miguel met him. “ More business ? ” he
asked wearily.

“No,” said the Secretary; “things are
going on very well.”

Molara looked at him with quick annoy¬
ance ; but Miguel’s face remained impassive,
so he simply replied, “ I am glad of that,” and
passed on.

CHAPTER IX.

THE ADMIRAL.

The disapproval which Moret had ex¬
pressed at Savrola’s determination to go to
the State Ball was amply justified by the
result. Every paper, except those actually
controlled by the party organisation, com¬
mented severely or contemptuously on his
action. The Hour alluded to the groans
with which the crowd had received him, as
marking the decline of his influence with
the masses and the break-up of the Revolu¬
tionary party. It also reminded its readers
that social distinction was always the high¬
est ambition of the Demagogue, and de¬
clared that, by accepting the President’s
invitation, Savrola had revealed “ his sordid
personal aims.” The other Government or¬
gans expressed a similar opinion in an even
more offensive manner. “ These agitators,”
said The Courtier, “have at all times in

128

THE ADMIRAL.

129

the history of the world hankered after titles
and honours, and the prospect of mixing
with persons of rank and fashion has once
again proved irresistible to an austere and
unbending son of the people.” This supe¬
rior vulgarity, though more unpleasant, was
less dangerous than the grave and serious
warnings and protests which the Democratic
journals contained. The Rising Tide said
plainly that, if this sort of thing continued,
the Popular party would have to find an¬
other leader, “ One who did not cringe to
power nor seek to ingratiate himself with
fashion.”

Savrola read these criticisms with disdain.
He had recognised the fact that such things
would be said, and had deliberately exposed
himself to them. He knew he had been
unwise to go : he had known that from the
first; and yet somehow he did not regret
his mistake. After all, why should his party
dictate to him how he should rule his pri¬
vate life ? He would never resign his right
to go where he pleased. In this case he
had followed his own inclination, and the

*30

THE ADMIRAL.

odium which had been cast upon him was
the price he was prepared to pay. When
he thought of his conversation in the gar¬
den, he did not feel that he had made a bad
bargain. The damage however must be re¬
paired. He looked over the notes of his
speech again, polished his sentences, con¬
sidered his points, collected his arguments,
and made some additions which he thought
appropriate to the altered state of public
feeling.

In this occupation the morning passed.
Moret came in to luncheon. He refrained
from actually saying “ I told you so,” but
his looks showed that he felt his judgment
was for the future established on unshakea-
ble foundations. His was a character easily
elated or depressed. Now he was gloomy
and despondent, regarding the cause as
already lost. Only a forlorn hope remained ;
Savrola might express his regret at the meet¬
ing, and appeal to the people to remember
his former services. He suggested this to
his leader, who laughed merrily at the idea.

“ My dear Louis,” he said, “ I shall do noth-

THE ADMIRAL.

131

ing of the sort. I will never resign my own
independence ; I shall always go where I like
and do what I like, and if they are not pleased,
they can find someone else to discharge their
public business.” Moret shuddered. Savrola
continued : “ I shall not actually tell them so,
but my manner will show them that I fear
their reproaches as little as Molara’s enmity.”

“ Perhaps they will not listen ; I hear
reports that there will be some hostility.”

“ Oh, I shall make them listen. There
may be some howling at first, but they will
change their note before I have gone very
far.”

His confidence was contagious. Moret’s
spirits revived under its influence and that
of a bottle of excellent claret. Like Napo¬
leon the Third, he felt that all might yet
be regained.

Meanwhile the President was extremely
well satisfied with the first result of his
schemes. He had not foreseen that Sav-
rola’s acceptance of the invitation to the
ball would involve him in so much unpopu¬
larity, and, although it was a poor compli-

1 32

THE ADMIRAL.

ment to himself, it was an unexpected
advantage. Besides, as Miguel had re¬
marked, everything was going on very well
in other directions. He had hardened his
heart and dismissed his scruples; stern,
bitter necessity had thrust him on an un¬
pleasant course, but now that he had started
he was determined to go on. In the mean¬
time affairs pressed on all sides. The
British Government were displaying an
attitude of resolution on the African Ques¬
tion. His violent despatch had not settled
the matter, as he had hoped and even
anticipated ; it had become necessary to
supplement his words by actions. The
African port must not be left undefended;
the fleet must go there at once. It was
not a moment when he could well afford
to be without the five ships of war whose
presence in the harbour overawed many
of the discontented; but he felt that a
vigorous foreign policy would be popular,
or at least sufficiently interesting to keep
the public mind from domestic agitation.
He also knew that a disaster abroad would

THE ADMIRAL.

*33

precipitate a revolution at home. It was
necessary to be very careful. He recognised
the power and resources of Great Britain ;
he had no illusions on the subject of the
comparative weakness of Laurania. In that
indeed lay their only strength. The British
Government would do all in their power
to avoid fighting (bullying, polite Europe
would call it) so small a State. It was
a game of bluff; the further he could go,
the better for the situation at home, but one
step too far meant ruin. It was a delicate
game to play, and it taxed to the utmost the
energies and talents of a strong, able man.

“The Admiral is here, Your Excellency,”
said Miguel entering the room, followed
immediately by a short, red-faced man in
naval uniform.

“ Good-morning, my dear de Mello,” cried
the President, rising and shaking the new¬
comer’s hand with great cordiality. ‘ I have
got some sailing-orders for you at last.

“ Well,” said de Mello bluntly, “ I am
sick of lying up waiting for your agitators
to rise.”

134

THE ADMIRAL.

“ There is work of a difficult and exciting
nature before you. Where’s that translation
of the cipher telegram, Miguel ? Ah, thank
you, — look here, Admiral.”

The sailor read the paper, and whistled
significantly. “ It may go further than you
wish, Molara, this time,” he said uncere¬
moniously.

“ I shall place the matter in your hands ;
you will be able to save this situation, as
you have saved so many others.”

“ Where did this come from ? ” asked
de Mello.

“From French sources.”

“ She is a powerful ship, the Aggressor , —
latest design, newest guns, in fact all the
modern improvements ; I have nothing that
she could not sink in ten minutes ; besides,
there are some gunboats there as well.”

“ I know the situation is difficult,” said the
President; “that is why I am entrusting it
to you! Now listen; whatever happens I
don’t want fighting ; that would only end in
disaster; and you know what disaster would
mean here. You must argue and parley

THE ADMIRAL.

J3 5

and protest on every point, and cause as
much delay as possible. Consult me by
telegraph on every occasion, and try to
make friends with the English admiral;
that is half the battle. If it ever comes to
a question of bombardment, we shall give
in and protest again. I will have your
instructions forwarded to you in writing this
evening. You had better steam to-night.
You understand the game ? ”

“Yes,” said de Mello, “I have played it
before.” He shook hands and walked to
the door.

The President accompanied him. “ It is
possible,” he said earnestly, “ that I shall
want you back here before you have gone
very far; there are many signs of trouble
in the city, and after all Strelitz is still on
the frontier waiting for a chance. If I send
for you, you will come ? ” There was almost
an appealing note in his tone.

“ Come ? ” said the Admiral. “ Of course
I will come, — full steam ahead. I have
had my big gun trained on the Parliament
House for the last month, and I mean to

j 36 THE ADMIRAL.

let it off one day. Oh, you can trust the
fleet.”

“ Thank God I never doubted that,” said
the President with some emotion, and shak¬
ing de Mello’s hand warmly, he returned to
his writing-table. He felt that the Admiral
was thoroughly loyal to the Government.

These men who live their lives in great
machines, become involved in the mechan¬
ism themselves. De Mello had lived on
warships all his days, and neither knew nor
cared for anything else. Landsmen and
civilians he despised with a supreme pro¬
fessional contempt. Such parts of the world
as bordered on the sea, he regarded as
possible targets of different types; for the
rest he cared nothing. With equal interest
he would burst his shells on patriots strug¬
gling to be free or foreign enemies, on a
hostile fort or on his native town. As
long as the authority to fire reached him
through the proper channel, he was content;
after that he regarded the question from
a purely technical standpoint.

The afternoon was far advanced before

THE ADMIRAL.

J37

the President finished the varied labours
of his office. “ There is a great meeting
to-night, is there not?” he asked Miguel.

“Yes,” said the Secretary, “ in the City-
Hall ; Savrola is going to speak.”

“ Have you arranged about an opposi¬
tion?”

“ Some of the secret police are going to
make a little, I believe ; Colonel Sorrento has
arranged that. But I fancy Senor Savrola’s
party are rather displeased with him, as it is.”

“Ah,” said Molara, “I know his powers;
he will tear their very hearts out with his
words. He is a terrible force ; we must take
every precaution. I suppose the troops
have been ordered to be under arms?
There is nothing he cannot do with a crowd,
— curse him ! ”

“ The Colonel was here this morning ; he
told me he was making arrangements.”

“ It is good,” said the President ; “ he
knows his own safety is involved. Where
do I dine to-night ? ”

“ With Senor Louvet, at the Home Office,
an official dinner.”

138 the admiral.

“ How detestable ! Still he has a plain
cook and he will be worth watching to¬
night. He gets in such a state of terror
when Savrola holds forth that he is ridicu¬
lous. I hate cowards, but they make the
world the merrier.”

He bade the Secretary good-night and left
the room. Outside he met Lucile. “ Dear¬
est,” he said, “ I am dining out to-night, an
official dinner at Louvet’s. It is a nuisance,
but I must go. Perhaps I shall not be back
till late. I am sorry to leave you like this,
but in these busy days I can hardly call my
soul my own.”

“Never mind, Antonio,” she replied; “I
know how you are pressed with work. What
has happened about the English affair ? ”

“ I don’t like the situation at all,” said
Molara. “They have a Jingo Government
in power and have sent ships as an answer
to our note. It is most unfortunate. Now
I have to send the fleet away, — at such a
moment.” He groaned moodily.

“ I told Sir Richard that we had to think
of the situation here, and that the despatch

THE ADMIRAL.

139

was meant for domestic purposes,” said
Lucile.

“ I think,” said the President, “ that the
English Government also have to keep the
electorate amused. It is a Conservative min¬
istry; they must keep things going abroad
to divert the public mind from advanced
legislation. What, more still, Miguel ? ”

“Yes, Sir; this bag has just arrived, with
several important despatches which require
your immediate attention.”

The President looked for a moment as if
he would like to tell Miguel to take himself
and his despatches to the infernal regions;
but he repressed the inclination. “ Good, I
will come. I shall see you at breakfast to¬
morrow, my dear, till then, farewell,” and giv¬
ing her a weary smile he walked off.

Thus it is that great men enjoy the power
they risk their lives to gain and often meet
their deaths to hold.

Lucile was left alone, not for the first time
when she had wanted companionship and
sympathy. She was conscious of an unsat¬
isfactory sensation with regard to existence

140

THE ADMIRAL.

generally. It was one of those moments
when the prizes and penalties of life seem
equally stale and futile. She sought refuge
in excitement. The project she had con¬
ceived the night before began to take actual
shape in her mind ; yes, she would hear him
speak. Going to her room she rang the
bell. The maid came quickly. “ What time
is the meeting to-night ? ”

“ At eight, Your Excellency,” said the girl.
“ You have a ticket for it ? ”

“ Yes, my brother - ”

“Well, give it to me; I want to hear this
man speak. He will attack the Government ;
I must be there to report to the President.”

The maid looked astonished, but gave up
the ticket meekly. For six years she had
been Lucile’s maid, and was devoted to her
young and beautiful mistress. “ What will
Y our Excellency wear ? ” was her only remark.

“ Something dark, with a thick veil,” said
Lucile. “ Don’t speak of this to anyone.”

“ Oh no, Y our Ex - ”

“ Not even to your brother.”

“Oh, no, Your Excellency.”

THE ADMIRAL.

141

“ Say I have a headache and have gone
to bed. You must go to your room yourself.”

The maid hurried off to get the dress and
bonnet. Lucile felt full of the nervous ex¬
citement her resolve had raised. It was an
adventure, it would be an experience, more
than that, she would see him. The crowd,
— when she thought of them she felt a little
frightened, but then she remembered that
women frequently went to these demonstra¬
tions, and there would be plenty of police
to keep order. She dressed herself hastily
in the clothes that the maid brought, and
descending the stairs, entered the garden.
It was already dusk, but Lucile had no diffi¬
culty in finding her way to a small private
gate in the wall, which her key unlocked.

She stepped into the street. All was very
quiet. The gas lamps flared in a long double
row till they almost met in the distant per¬
spective. A few people were hurrying in
the direction of the City-Hall. She followed
them.

CHAPTER X.

THE WAND OF THE MAGICIAN.

The City-Hall was a gigantic meeting¬
house in which for many years all the pub¬
lic discussions of the Lauranian people had
taken place. Its stone facade was showy
and pretentious, but the building itself con¬
sisted merely of the great hall and of a
few smaller rooms and offices. The hall
was capable of holding nearly seven thou¬
sand people ; with its white-washed roof
sustained by iron girders, and well lit with
gas, it seived its purpose well without any
affectation of display.

& ht in the stream of those
who were entering and carried inside. She
had expected to find a seat, but, in view
of a great crowd, all the chairs had been
removed from the body of the hall, and
only standing room remained. In this solid
mass of humanity she found herself an

142

THE WAND OF THE MAGICIAN.

143

atom. To move was difficult; to go back
almost impossible.

It was a striking scene. The hall, which
was hung with flags, was crowded to over¬
flowing; a long gallery, which ran round
three sides, was densely packed to the very
ceiling ; the flaring gas-jets threw their yel¬
low light on thousands of faces. The large
majority of the audience were men, but
Lucile noticed with relief that there were
several women present. A platform at the
far end of the hall displayed the customary
table and the inevitable glass of water. In
front of the platform were two long rows
of reporters, getting their pads and pencils
ready, — a kind of orchestra. Behind and
above were again rows and rows of chairs
filled by the numerous delegates, officials,
and secretaries of the various political clubs
and organisations, each distinguished by the
badge and sash of his society. Moret had
exerted himself to whip up the utmost power
of the Party, and had certainly succeeded in
organising the greatest demonstration Lau-
rania had ever seen. All the political forces

144

THE WAND OF THE MAGICIAN.

arrayed against the Government were repre¬
sented.

There was a loud hum of conversation,
broken at intervals by cheers and the cho¬
ruses of patriotic songs. Suddenly the clock
in the tower of the building chimed the
hour. At the same instant, from a doorway
on the right of the platform, Savrola en¬
tered, followed by Godoy, Moret, Renos,
and several other prominent leaders of the
movement. He made his way along the
row of chairs, until he reached that on
the right of the table, sat down and looked
quietly about him. There was a storm of
discordant shouting, no two men seeming
to hold the same opinion. At one moment
it sounded as if all were cheering; at an¬
other hoots and groans obtained the su¬
premacy. The meeting in fact was about
equally divided. The extreme sections of
the Reform Party, regarding Savrola’s at¬
tendance at the ball as an action of the
grossest treachery, howled with fury at
him ; the more moderate cheered him as
the safest man to cling to in times of civil

THE WAND OF THE MAGICIAN.

145

disturbance. The delegates and regular
officials, who occupied the chairs on the
platform, were silent and sullen, like men
who await an explanation without belief
in its sufficiency.

At length the shouting ceased. Godoy,
who was in the chair, rose and made a
short speech, in which he studiously avoided
any contentious allusion to Savrola, confin¬
ing himself only to the progress of the
movement. He spoke well and clearly, but
nobody wanted to hear him, and all were
relieved when he concluded by calling upon
“our leader,” Savrola, to address the meet¬
ing. Savrola, who had been talking un¬
concernedly with one of the delegates on
his right, turned round quickly towards the
audience, and rose. As he did so, a man in
a blue suit, one of a little group similarly
clad, shouted out, “Traitor and toady!”
Hundreds of voices took up the cry; there
was an outburst of hooting and groaning;
others cheered half-heartedly. It was an
unpromising reception. Moret looked around
him in blank despair.

146 THE WAND OF THE MAGICIAN.

In spite of the heat and the pressure,
Lucile could not take her eyes off Savrola.
She could see that he was quivering with
suppressed excitement. His composure had
merely been assumed ; crowds stirred his
blood, and when he rose he could wear his
mask no longer. He looked almost terrible,
as he waited there, facing the outburst with
defiance written in every line of his pale,
earnest face and resolute figure. Then he
began to speak, but his words could not at
first be distinguished through the persistent
shouts of the man in blue and his friends.
At length, after five minutes of intense
disorder, the curiosity of the audience tri¬
umphed over all other emotions, and they
generally sank into silence, to hear what
their leader had to say.

Again Savrola began. Though he spoke
very quietly and slowly, his words reached
the furthest ends of the hall. He showed,
or perhaps he feigned, some nervousness at
first, and here and there in his sentences
he paused as if searching for a word. He
was surprised, he said, at his reception. He

THE WAND OF THE MAGICIAN.

147

had not expected, now when the final result
was so nearly attained, that the people of
Laurania would change their minds. The
man in blue began to howl his odious cry.
There was another outbreak of hooting ;
but the majority of the audience were now
anxious to listen, and silence was soon
restored. Savrola continued. He briefly
reviewed the events of the last year: the
struggle they had had to form a party
at all; the fierce opposition they had en¬
countered and sustained ; the success that
had attended their threat of taking arms;
the President’s promise of a free Parliament;
the trick that had been played on them ; the
firing of the soldiery on the crowd. His
earnest, thoughtful words evoked a hum of
approval. These were events in which the
audience had participated, and they liked
having them recalled to their memories.

Then he went on to speak of the Depu¬
tation and of the contempt with which the
President had thought fit to treat the
accredited representatives of the citizens.
“Traitor and toady!” shouted the man

148 THE WAND OF THE MAGICIAN.

in blue loudly ; but there was no response.
“ And,” said Savrola, “ I will invite your at¬
tention to this further matter. It has not
been sufficient to strangle the Press, to shoot
down the people, and to subvert the Consti¬
tution, but even when we are assembled here
in accordance with our unquestioned right
to discuss matters of State and decide upon
our public policies, our deliberations are to
be interrupted by the paid agents of the
Government,” — he looked towards the man
in blue, and there was an angry hum — “who
insult by their abusive cries not only myself,
a free Lauranian, but you also, the assem¬
bled citizens who have invited me to place
my views before you.” Here the audience
broke out into indignant applause and agree¬
ment; cries of “Shame!” were heard, and
fierce looks turned in the direction of the
interrupters, who had, however, dispersed
themselves unobtrusively among the crowd.
“ In spite of such tactics,” Savrola continued,
“ and in the face of all opposition, whether
by bribes or bullets, whether by hired
bravos or a merciless and mercenary sol-

THE WAND OF THE MAGICIAN.

149

diery, the great cause we are here to sup¬
port has gone on, is going on, and is going
to go on, until at length our ancient liberties
are regained, and those who have robbed
us of them punished.” Loud cheers rose
from all parts of the hall. His voice was
even and not loud, but his words conveyed
an impression of dauntless resolution.

And then, having got his audience in
hand, he turned his powers of ridicule upon
the President and his colleagues. Every
point he made was received with cheers and
laughter. He spoke of Louvet, of his cour¬
age, and of his trust in the people. Per¬
haps, he said, it was not inappropriate that
the Ministry of the Interior should be filled
by “ a glutton,” the Home Office by a “ stay-
at-home ” who was afraid to go out among
his countrymen at night. Louvet was in¬
deed a good object for abuse ; he was hated
by the people, who despised his cowardice
and had always jeered at him. Savrola con¬
tinued. He described the President as cling¬
ing to office at whatever cost to himself or
others. In order to draw the attention of

150 THE WAND OF THE MAGICIAN.

the people from his tyrannical actions and
despotic government at home, he had tried
to involve them in complications abroad,
and he had succeeded, more completely than
he had bargained for. They were embroiled
now in a dispute with a great Power, a dis¬
pute from which they had nothing to gain
and everything to lose. Their fleets and
armies must be despatched, to the cost of
the State ; their possessions were endan¬
gered ; perhaps the lives of their soldiers
and sailors would be sacrificed. And all for
what ? In order that Antonio Molara might
do as he had declared he would, and die at the
head of the State. It was a bad joke. But
he should be warned ; many a true word was
spoken in jest. Again there was a fierce hum.

Lucile listened spell-bound. When he
had risen, amid the groans and hisses of
that great crowd, she had sympathised with
him, had feared even for his life, had won¬
dered at the strange courage which made
him attempt the seemingly impossible task
of convincing such an audience. As he had
progressed and had begun to gain power and

THE WAND OF THE MAGICIAN. 151

approval, she had rejoiced ; every cheer had
given her pleasure. She had silently joined
in the indignation which the crowd had
expressed against Sorrento’s police-agents.
Now he was attacking her husband; and
yet she hardly seemed to feel an emotion
of antagonism.

He left the subject of the Ministers with
contemptuous scorn, amid the earnest assent
of the audience and on the full tide of pub¬
lic opinion. They must now, he said, treat
of higher matters. He invited them to con¬
sider the ideals at which they aimed. Hav¬
ing roused their tempers, he withheld from
them the outburst of fury and enthusiasm
they desired. As he spoke of the hopes of
happiness to which even the most miserable
of human beings had a right, silence reigned
throughout the hall, broken only by that
grave melodious voice which appealed to
everyone. For more than three quarters
of an hour he discussed social and financial
reforms. Sound practical common sense
was expressed with many a happy instance,
many a witty analogy, many a lofty and
luminous thought.

152

THE WAND OF THE MAGICIAN.

“When I look at this beautiful country
that is ours and was our fathers’ before us,
at its blue seas and snow-capped moun¬
tains, at its comfortable hamlets and wealthy
cities, at its silver streams and golden corn¬
fields, I marvel at the irony of fate which
has struck across so fair a prospect the dark
shadow of a military despotism.”

The sound of momentous resolution rose
again from the crowded hall. He had held
their enthusiasm back for an hour by the
clock. The steam had been rising all this
time. All were searching in their minds for
something to relieve their feelings, to give
expression to the individual determination
each man had made. There was only one
mind throughout the hall. His passions, his
emotions, his very soul appeared to be com¬
municated to the seven thousand people who
heard his words; and they mutually inspired
each other.

Then at last he let them go. For the first
time he raised his voice, and in a resonant,
powerful, penetrating tone which thrilled the
listeners, began the peroration of his speech.

THE WAND OF THE MAGICIAN. 1 53

The effect of his change of manner was
electrical. Each short sentence was followed
by wild cheering. The excitement of the
audience became indescribable. Everyone
was carried away by it. Lucile was borne
along, unresisting, by that strong torrent of
enthusiasm; her interests, her objects, her
ambitions, her husband, all were forgotten.
His sentences grew longer, more rolling and
sonorous. At length he reached the last of
those cumulative periods which pile argu¬
ment on argument as Pelion on Ossa. All
pointed to an inevitable conclusion. The
people saw it coming and when the last
words fell, they were greeted with thunders
of assent.

Then he sat down, drank some water, and
pressed his hands to his head. The strain had
been terrific. He was convulsed by his own
emotions ; every pulse in his body was throb¬
bing, every nerve quivering; he streamed
with perspiration and almost gasped for
breath. For five minutes everyone shouted
wildly; the delegates on the platform mounted
their chairs and waved their arms. At his

i54

THE WAND OF THE MAGICIAN.

suggestion the great crowd would have sal¬
lied into the streets and marched on the
palace; and it would have taken many bul¬
lets from the soldiers that Sorrento had so
carefully posted to bring them back to the
realisation of the squalid materialities of life.

The resolutions which Moret and Godoy
proposed were carried by acclamation. Sav-
rola turned to the former. “Well, Louis,
I was right. How did it sound? I liked
the last words. It is the best speech I have
ever made.”

Moret looked at him as at a god. “ Splen¬
did ! ” he said. “ You have saved everything.”

And now the meeting began to break
up. Savrola walked to a side-door, and in
a small waiting-room received the congratu¬
lations of all his principal supporters and
friends. Lucile was hurried along in the
press. Presently there was a block. Two
men, of foreign aspect, stood in front of her,
speaking in low tones.

“ Brave words, Karl,” said one.

“ Ah,” said the other, “ we must have deeds.
He is a good tool to work with at present ;

THE WAND OF THE MAGICIAN. 1 55

the time will come when we shall need some¬
thing sharper.”

“ He has great power.”

Yes, but he is not of us. He has no
sympathy with the cause. What does he
care about a community of goods ? ”

“For my part,” said the first man with
an ugly laugh, “ I have always been more at¬
tracted by the idea of a community of wives.”

“Well, that too is part of the great scheme
of society.”

“ When you deal them out, Karl, put me
down as part proprietor of the President’s.”

He chuckled coarsely. Lucile shuddered.
Here were the influences behind and be¬
neath the great Democrat of which her hus¬
band had spoken.

The human stream began to flow on again.
Lucile was carried by a current down a side
street which led to the doorway by which
Savrola would leave the hall. A bright gas-
lamp made everything plainly visible. At
length he appeared at the top of the steps, at
the foot of which his carriage had already
drawn up to receive him. The narrow street

156 THE WAND OF THE MAGICIAN.

was filled with the crowd ; the pressure was
severe.

“ Louis, come with me,” said Savrola to
Moret ; “ you can drop me and take the car¬
riage on.” Like many highly-wrought minds
he yearned for sympathy and praise at such
a moment ; and he knew he would get them
from Moret.

The throng, on seeing him, surged for¬
ward. Lucile, carried off her feet, was
pushed into a dark burly man in front of
her. Chivalrous gallantry is not among the
peculiar characteristics of excited democracy.
Without looking round the man jobbed back¬
wards with his elbow and struck her in the
breast. The pain was intense ; involuntarily
she screamed.

“ Gentlemen,” cried Savrola, “ a woman
has been hurt; I heard her voice. Give
room there ! ” He ran down the steps. The
crowd opened out. A dozen eager and offi¬
cious hands were extended to assist Lucile,
who was paralysed with terror. She would
be recognised ; the consequences were too
awful to be thought of.

THE WAND OF THE MAGICIAN. 1 57

“ Bring her in here,” said Savrola. “ Moret,
help me.” He half carried, half supported
her up the steps into the small waiting-room.
Godoy, Renos, and half a dozen of the
Democratic leaders, who had been discuss¬
ing the speech, grouped themselves around
her curiously. He placed her in a chair.
“ A glass of water,” he said quickly. Some¬
body handed him one, and he turned to offer
it to her. Lucile, incapable of speech or
motion, saw no way of escape. He must
recognise her. The ridicule, the taunts, the
danger, all were plain to her. As she made
a feeble effort with her hand to decline the
water, Savrola looked hard at her through
her thick veil. Suddenly he started, spilling
the water he was holding out to her. He
knew her then! Now it would come — a
terrible exposure !

“ Why, Mirette,” he cried, “ my little niece !
How could you come alone to such a crowded
place at night? To hear my speech ? Godoy,
Renos, this is indeed a tribute ! This means
more to me than all the cheers of the people.
Here is my sister’s daughter who has risked

158 THE WAND OF THE MAGICIAN.

the crowd to come and hear me speak. But
your mother,” he turned to Lucile, “ should
never have allowed you ; this is no place for
a girl alone. I must take you home. You
are not hurt? If you had asked me, I could
have ensured a seat for you out of the crowd.
Is my carriage there ? Good, we had better
get home at once ; your mother will be very
anxious. Good-night, gentlemen. Come, my
dear.” He offered her his arm and led her
down the steps. The people who filled the
street, their upturned faces pale in the gas¬
light, cheered wildly. He put her into his
carriage. “ Drive on, coachman,” he said,
getting in himself.

“ Where to, Sir ? ” asked the man.

Moret advanced to the carriage. “ I will
go on the box,” he said. “ I can take the
carriage on after dropping you,” and before
Savrola could say a word he had climbed on
to the seat beside the driver.

“Where to, Sir?” repeated the coachman.

“ Home,” said Savrola desperately.

The carriage started, passed through the
cheering crowds, and out into the less fre¬
quented parts of the city.

CHAPTER XI.

IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT.

Lucile lay back in the cushions of the
brougham with a feeling of intense relief.
He had saved her. An emotion of grati-

O

tude filled her mind, and on the impulse
of the moment she took his hand and
pressed it. It was the third time in their
renewed acquaintance that their hands had
met, and each time the significance had
been different.

Savrola smiled. “ It was most imprudent
of your Excellency to venture into a crowd
like that. Luckily I thought of an expedi¬
ent in time. I trust you were not hurt in
the throng ? ”

“No,” said Lucile; “a man struck me
with his elbow and I screamed. I should
never have come.”

“ It was dangerous.”

“ I wanted to - ” She paused.

159

l6o IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT.

“To hear me speak,” he added, finishing
her sentence for her.

“Yes; to see you use your power.”

“ I am flattered by the interest you take
in me.”

“ Oh, it was on purely political grounds.”

There was the suspicion of a smile on
her face. He looked at her quickly. What
did she mean ? Why should it be neces¬
sary to say so? Her mind had contem¬
plated another reason, then.

“ I hope you were not bored,” he said.

“ It is terrible to have power like that,”
she replied earnestly; and then after a
pause, “ Where are we going to ? ”

“ I would have driven you to the palace,”
said Savrola, “but our ingenuous young
friend on the box has made it necessary
that we should keep up this farce for a
little longer. It will be necessary to get
rid of him. For the present you had best
remain my niece.”

She looked up at him with an amused
smile, and then said seriously: “It was
brilliant of you to have thought of it, and

IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT. l6l

noble of you to have carried it out. I shall
never forget it ; you have done me a great
service.”

“ Here we are,” said Savrola at length, as
the brougham drew up at the entrance of
his house. He opened the carriage-door;
Moret jumped off the box and rang the
bell. After a pause the old housekeeper
opened the door. Savrola called to her.
“ Ah, Bettine, I am glad you are up. Here
is my niece, who has been to the meeting to
hear me speak and has been jostled by the
crowd. I shall not let her go home alone
to-night. Have you a bedroom ready ? ”

“ There is the spare room on the first
floor,” answered the old woman ; “ but I
fear that would never do.”

“ Why not ? ” asked Savrola quickly.

“ Because the sheets for the big bed are
not aired, and since the chimney was swept
there has been no fire there.”

“ Oh, well, you must try and do what you
can. Good-night, Moret. Will you send the
carriage back as soon as you have done
with it? I have some notes to send to

1 62 IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT.

The Rising Tide office about the articles
for to-morrow morning. Don’t forget, — as
quickly as you can, for I am tired out.”

“Good-night,” said Moret. “You have
made the finest speech of your life. Noth¬
ing can stop us while we have you to lead
the way.”

He got into the carriage and drove off.
Savrola and Lucile ascended the stairs to
the sitting-room, while the housekeeper bus¬
tled off to make preparations for the airing
of sheets and pillow-cases. Lucile looked
round the room with interest and curiosity.
“ I am in the heart of the enemy’s camp
now,” she said.

“You will be in many hearts during
your life,” said Savrola, “ whether you re¬
main a queen or not.”

“You are still determined to drive us
out?”

“You heard what I said to-night.”

“ I ought to hate you,” said Lucile ; “ and
yet I don’t feel that we are enemies.”

“We are on opposite sides,” he replied.

“ Only politics come between us.”

IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT. 163

“ Politics and persons,” he added signifi¬
cantly, using a hackneyed phrase.

She looked at him with a startled glance.
What did he mean ? Had he read deeper
into her heart than she herself had dared to
look ? “ Where does that door lead to ? ”

she asked irrelevantly.

“ That ? It leads to the roof, — to my
observatory.”

“ Oh show it me,” she cried. “ Is it there
you watch the stars ? ”

“ I often look at them. I love them ;
they are full of suggestions and ideas.”

He unlocked the door and led the way up
the narrow winding stairs on to the plat¬
form. It was, as is usual in Laurania, a de¬
licious night. Lucile walked to the parapet
and looked over; all the lamps of the
town twinkled beneath, and above were the
stars.

Suddenly, far out in the harbour, a broad
white beam of light shot out; it was the
search-light of a warship. For a moment it
swept along the military mole and rested on
the battery at the mouth of the channel.

164 IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT.

The fleet was leaving the port, and picking
its way through the difficult passage.

Savrola had been informed of the ap¬
proaching departure of the admiral, and
realised at once the meaning of what he
saw. “That,” he said, “may precipitate
matters.”

“You mean that when the ships are gone
you will no longer fear to rise ? ”

“ I do not fear ; but it is better to await a
good moment.”

“ And that moment ? ”

“ Is perhaps imminent. I should like you
to leave the capital. It will be no place for
women in a few days. Your husband knows
it; why has he not sent you away to the
country ? ”

“ Because,” she replied, “ we shall suppress
this revolt, and punish those who have caused
it.

“ Have no illusions,” said Savrola. “ I
do not miscalculate. The army cannot be
trusted ; the fleet is gone ; the people are
determined. It will not be safe for you to
stay here. ”

IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT. 1 65

“ I will not be driven out,” she answered
with energy ; “ nothing shall make me fly.
I will perish with my husband.”

“ Oh, we shall try to be much more prosaic
than that,” he said. “We shall offer a very
handsome pension to the President, and he
will retire with his beautiful wife to some
gay and peaceful city, where he can enjoy
life without depriving others of liberty.”

“You think you can do all this?” she
cried. “ Your power can rouse the multi¬
tude ; but can you restrain them ? ” And
she told him of the words she had heard in
the crowd that night. “ Are you not play¬
ing with mighty forces ? ”

“ Yes, I am,” he said ; “ and that is why
I have asked you to go away to the country
for a few days, until things become settled
one way or the other. It is possible that
either I or your husband will go down.
I shall of course try to save him, if we
are successful; but, as you say, there are
other forces which may be beyond control ;

and if he gets the upper hand - ”

“ Well?”

1 66 IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT.

“ I suppose I should be shot.”

“ Fearful ! ” she said. “ Why will you
persist ? ”

“ Oh, it is only now, when the play is
growing high, that I begin to appreciate the
game. Besides, death is not very terrible.”

“ Afterwards may be.”

“ I do not think so. Life, to continue,
must show a balance of happiness. Of one
thing I feel sure ; we may say of a future
state, — ‘ If any, then better.’ ”

“You apply your knowledge of this world
to all others.”

“ Why not ? ” he said. “ Why should not
the same laws hold good all over the uni¬
verse, and, if possible, beyond it? Other
suns show by their spectra that they con¬
tain the same elements as ours.”

“You put your faith in the stars,” she
said doubtingly, “and think, though you
will not admit it, they can tell you every¬
thing.”

“ I never accused them of being inter¬
ested in our concerns; but if they were,
they might tell strange tales. Suppos-

IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT. 1 67

ing they could read our hearts for in¬
stance ? ”

She glanced up and met his eye. They
looked at each other hard. She gasped;
whatever the stars might know, they had
read each other’s secret.

There was a noise of someone running:
up-stairs. It was the housekeeper.

“ The carriage has returned,” said Savrola
in a quiet voice. “ It can now take you back
to the palace.”

The old woman stepped out on to the
roof, breathing hard from her climb. “ I
have aired the sheets,” she said with exul¬
tation in her voice, “ and the fire is burning
brightly. There is some soup ready for the
young lady, if she will come and take it, be¬
fore it gets cold.”

The interruption was so commonplace
that both Lucile and Savrola laughed. It
was a happy escape from an awkward mo¬
ment. “You always manage, Bettine,” he
said, “ to make everyone comfortable ; but
after all the bedroom will not be needed.
My niece is afraid lest her mother be alarmed

1 68 IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT.

at her absence, and I am going to send her
back in the carriage so soon as it returns.”

The poor old soul looked terribly dis¬
appointed; the warm sheets, the cosy fire,
the hot soup were comforts she loved to
prepare for others, enjoying them, as it
were, by proxy. She turned away and de¬
scended the narrow staircase mournfully,
leaving them again alone.

So they sat and talked, not as before, but
with full knowledge of their sympathy, while
the moon climbed higher in the sky and the
soft breezes stirred the foliage of the palm-
trees in the garden below. Neither thought
much of the future, nor did they blame the
coachman’s delay.

At length the silence of the night, and
the train of their conversation were broken
by the noise of wheels on the stony street.

“ At last,” said Savrola without enthu¬
siasm. Lucile rose and looked over the
parapet. A carriage approached almost at
a gallop. It stopped suddenly at the door,
and a man jumped out in a hurry. The
door-bell rang loudly.

IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT. 1 69

Savrola took both her hands. “ We must
part, he said ; “ when shall we meet again,
— Lucile ? ”

She made no answer, nor did the moon¬
light betray the expression of her features.
Savrola led the way down the stairs. As
he entered the sitting-room, the further door
was opened hastily by a man who, seeing
Savrola, stopped short, and respectfully took
off his hat. It was Moret’s servant.

With considerable presence ?of mind Sav¬
rola shut the door behind him, leaving Lu¬
cile in the darkness of the staircase. She
waited in astonishment ; the door was thin.
“My master, Sir,” said a stranger’s voice,
“ bade me bring you this with all speed and
give it direct into your hand.” There fol¬
lowed the tearing of paper, a pause, an
exclamation, and then Savrola, in a voice
steady with the steadiness which betrays in¬
tense emotion under control, replied: “ Thank
you very much ; say I shall await them here.
Don’t take the carriage ; go on foot, — stay,

I will let you out myself.”

She heard the other door open and the

170 IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT.

sound of their footsteps going down-stairs ;
then she turned the handle and entered.
Something had happened, something sud¬
den, unexpected, momentous. His voice,

_ strange how well she was beginning to

know it ! — had told her that. An envelope
lay on the floor; on the table, — the table
where the cigarette-box and the revolver lay
side by side, — was a paper, half curled up
as if anxious to preserve its secret.

Subtle, various, and complex are the springs
of human action. She felt the paper touched
her nearly; she knew it concerned him.
Their interests were antagonistic; yet she
did not know whether it was for his sake or
her own that she was impelled to indulge a
wild curiosity. She smoothed the paper out.
It was brief and in a hurried hand, but to the
point : Code wire just received says , Strelitz
crossed frontier this morning with two thou¬
sand men and is marching hither via Turga
and Lorenzo. The hour has come. I have
sent to Godoy and Renos and will bring them
round at once. Yours through hell , Moret.

Lucile felt the blood run to her heart;

IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT. 1 7 1

already she imagined the sound of musketry.
It was true the hour had come. The fatal
paper fascinated her ; she could not take her
eyes from it. Suddenly the door opened and
Savrola came in. The noise, her agitation,
and above all the sense of detection wrung
from her a low, short, startled scream. He
grasped the situation immediately. “ Blue¬
beard,” he said ironically.

“Treason,” she retorted taking refuge in
furious anger. “ So you will rise and mur¬
der us in the night, — conspirator ! ”

Savrola smiled suavely ; his composure
was again perfect. “ I have sent the messen¬
ger away on foot, and the carriage is at your
disposal. We have talked long; it is now
three o’clock ; your Excellency should not
further delay your return to the palace. It
would be most imprudent; besides, as you
will realise, I expect visitors.”

His calmness maddened her. “Yes,” she
retorted ; “ the President will send you some,
— police.”

“ He will not know about the invasion
yet.”

172 IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT.

“ I shall tell him,” she replied.

Savrola laughed softly. “ Oh no,” he said,
“ that would not be fair.”

“ All’s fair in love and war.”

“ And this - ? ”

“ Is both,” she said, and then burst into
tears.

After that they went down-stairs. Savrola
helped her into the carriage. “ Good-night,”
he said, though it was already morning, “ and
good-bye.”

But Lucile, not knowing what to say or
think or do, continued to cry inconsolably
and the carriage drove away. Savrola closed
the door and returned to his room. He did
not feel his secret was in any danger.

CHAPTER XII.

A COUNCIL OF WAR.

Savrola had scarcely time to smoke a
cigarette before the Revolutionary leaders
began to arrive. Moret was the first ; he
rang the bell violently, stamping about on
the doorstep till it was answered, ran up¬
stairs three steps at a time, and burst impetu¬
ously into the room, aquiver with excitement.
“Ah,” he cried, “the hour has come, — not
words but deeds now! We draw the sword
in a good cause; for my part I shall fling
away the scabbard ; Fortune is on our side.”

“Yes,” said Savrola; “have some whisky
and soda-water, — on the sideboard there. It
is a good drink to draw the sword on, — the
best in fact.”

Moret somewhat abashed turned and walk¬
ing to the table began opening a soda-water
bottle. As he poured out the spirit the
clinking of glass and bottle betrayed his agi-

173

174

A COUNCIL OF WAR.

tation. Savrola laughed softly. Turning
swiftly, his impetuous follower sought to
hide his agitation by a fresh outburst. “ I
have told you throughout,” he said, holding
his glass on high, “ that force was the only
solution. It has come, as I predicted. I
drink to it, — war, civil war, battle, murder,
and sudden death, — by these means liberty
will be regained ! ”

“ Wonderful soothing effect these ciga¬
rettes have. There’s no opium in them
either, — soft, fresh Egyptians. I get them
every week from Cairo. A little, old man I
met there three years ago makes them, —
Abdullah Rachouan.”

He held out the box. Moret took one ;
the business of lighting it steadied him ; he
sat down and began to smoke furiously.
Savrola watched him in dreamy calmness,
looking often at the smoke-wreathes that
rose about him. Presently he spoke. “ So
you are glad there is to be war and that
people are to be killed ? ”

“ I am glad that this tyranny is to be
ended.”

A COUNCIL OF WAR.

*75

“ Remember that we pay for every pleasure
and every triumph we have in this world.”

“ I will take my chance.”

“ I trust, I would be glad if I could say
with conviction, I pray, that the lot may not
fall on you. But it is true nevertheless that
we must pay, and for all the good things in
life men pay in advance. The principles of
sound finance apply.”

“ How do you mean ? ” asked Moret.

“ Would you rise in the world ? You must
work while others amuse themselves. Are
you desirous of a reputation for courage ?
You must risk your life. Would you be
strong morally or physically? You must
resist temptations. All this is paying in
advance ; that is prospective finance. Ob¬
serve the other side of the picture ; the bad
things are paid for afterwards.”

“ Not always.”

“ Yes, as surely as the headache of Sunday
morning follows the debauch of Saturday
night, as an idle youth is requited by a bar¬
ren age, as a gluttonous appetite promotes
an ungainly paunch.”

176

A COUNCIL OF WAR.

“ And you think I shall have to pay for
this excitement and enthusiasm ? You think
I have paid nothing so far ? ”

“You will have to take risks, that is pay¬
ing. Fate will often throw double or quits.
But on these hazards men should not embark
with levity ; the gentleman will always think
of settling-day.”

Moret was silent. Brave and impetuous
as he was, the conversation chilled him.
His was not the courage of the Stoic; he
had not schooled himself to contemplate the
shock of dissolution. He fixed his thoughts
on the struggles and hopes of the world,
as one might look at the flowers and
grasses that were growing on the edge of
a precipice towards which he was being
impelled.

They remained for a few moments without
speaking, till Godoy and Renos entered, hav¬
ing arrived simultaneously.

Each man of the four had taken the news,
which meant so much to them, according to
their natures. Savrola had put on the armour
of his philosophy, and gazed on the world as

A COUNCIL OF WAR.

1 77

from a distance. Moret had been convulsed
with excitement. The other two, neither
composed nor elated by the proximity and
the approach of danger, showed that they
were not the men for stirring times.

Savrola greeted them amiably, and all sat
down. Renos was crushed. The heavy
hammer of action had fallen on the delicate
structures of precedent and technicality in
which he had always trusted, and smashed
them flat. Now that the crisis had arrived,
the law, his shield and buckler, was first of
all to be thrown away. “ Why has he done
this ? ” he asked. “ What right had he to
come without authorisation ? He has com¬
mitted us all. What can we do ? ”

Godoy too was shocked and frightened.
He was one of those men who fear danger,
who shrink from it, but yet embark delib¬
erately on courses which they know must
lead to it. He had long foreseen the mo¬
ment of revolt, but had persisted in going
on. Now it was upon him, and he trembled;
still, his dignity strengthened him.

“ What is to be done, Savrola ? ” he asked,

A COUNCIL OF WAR.

I78

turning instinctively to the greater soul and
stronger mind.

“Well,” said the leader, “they had no
business to come without my orders; they
have, as Renos has observed, committed us,
while our plans are in some respects incom¬
plete. Strelitz has disobeyed me flatly; I
will settle with him later. For the present,
recriminations are futile ; we have to deal
with the situation. The President will know
of the invasion in the morning ; some of the
troops here will, I take it, be ordered to
strengthen the Government forces in the
field. Perhaps the Guard will be sent. I
think the others would refuse to march ;
they are thoroughly in sympathy with the
Cause. If so we must strike, much as we
have arranged. You, Moret, will call the
people to arms. The Proclamation must be
printed, the rifles served out, the Revolution
proclaimed. All the Delegates must be noti¬
fied. If the soldiers fraternise, all will be
well; if not, you will have to fight — I don’t
think there will be much opposition — storm
the palace and make Molara prisoner.”

A COUNCIL OF WAR.

179

“ It shall be done,” said Moret.

“ Meanwhile,” continued Savrola, “we will
proclaim the Provisional Government at the
Mayoralty. Thence I shall send you orders;
thither you must send me reports. All this
will happen the day after to-morrow.”

Godoy shivered, but assented. “ Yes,” he
said ; “ it is the only course, except flight and
ruin.”

“Very well; now we will go into details.
First of all, the Proclamation. I will write
that to-night. Moret, you must get it
printed ; you shall have it at six o’clock
to-morrow morning. Then prepare the ar¬
rangements we had devised for assembling
and arming the people; wait till you get a
written order from me to put them into
action. You, Renos, must see the members
of the Provisional Government. Have the
constitution of the Council of Public Safety
printed, and be ready to circulate it to¬
morrow night ; yet again, wait till I give
the word. Much depends on the attitude of
the troops ; but everything is really ready. I
do not think we need fear the result.”

180 A COUNCIL OF WAR.

The intricate details of the plot, for plot it
was, were well known to the leaders of the
revolt. For several months they had looked
to force as the only means of ending the
government they detested. Savrola was
not the man to commit himself to such an
enterprise without taking every precaution.
Nothing had been forgotten ; the machinery
of revolution only needed setting in motion.
Yet in spite of the elaborate nature of the
conspiracy and its great scale, the President
and his police had been able to learn nothing
definite. They feared that a rising was im¬
minent; they had realised the danger for
some months ; but it was impossible to know
where the political agitation ended, and the
open sedition began. The great social posi¬
tion and almost European reputation of the
principal leaders had rendered their arrest
without certain proof a matter of extreme
difficulty. The President, believing that the
people would not rise unless spurred thereto
by some act of power on the part of the
Executive, feared to rouse them. But for
this Savrola, Moret, and the others would

A COUNCIL OF WAR. iSl

have already filled cells in the State Prison ;
indeed, they would have had much to be
thankful for had their lives been spared.

But Savrola understood his position, and
had played his game with consummate tact
and skill. The great parade he made of
the political agitation had prevented the
President from observing the conspiracy to
deliberate violence which lay beneath. At
length the preparations were approaching
completion. It had become only a matter
of days ; Strelitz’s impetuous act had but
precipitated the course of events. One
corner of the great firework had caught
light too soon ; it was necessary to fire the
rest lest the effect should be spoiled.

He continued to go over the details of the
scheme for nearly an hour, to make sure
that there should be no mistakes. At last
all was finished, and the members of the
embryo Council of Public Safety took their
departure, Savrola let them out himself,
not wishing to wake the old nurse. Poor
soul, why should she feel the force of the
struggles of ambitious men ?

182

A COUNCIL OF WAR.

Moret went off full of enthusiasm; the
others were gloomy and preoccupied. Their
great leader shut the door, and once more
that night climbed the stairs to his chamber.

As he reached it, the first streaks of morn¬
ing came in through the parted curtains of
the windows. The room, in the grey light
with its half-empty glasses and full ashtrays,
looked like a woman, no longer young, sur¬
prised by an unsympathetic dawn in the
meretricious paints and pomps of the pie-
vious night. It was too late to go to bed ;
yet he was tired, weary with that dry kind
of fatigue which a man feels when all desire
of sleep has passed away. He experienced
a sensation of annoyance and depression.
Life seemed unsatisfactory; something was
lacking. When all deductions had been
made on the scores of ambition, duty, excite¬
ment, or fame, there remained an unabsorbed
residuum of pure emptiness. What was the
good of it all? He thought of the silent
streets; in a few hours they would echo
with the crackle of musketry. Poor broken
creatures would be carried bleeding to the

A COUNCIL OF WAR. 183

houses, whose doors terrified women would
close in the uncharitable haste of fear.
Others, flicked out of human ken from solid
concrete earth to unknown, unformulated
abstractions, would lie limp and reproach¬
ful on the paving-stones. And for what?
He could not find an answer to the ques¬
tion. The apology for his own actions was
merged in the much greater apology nature
would have to make for the existence of the
human species. Well, he might be killed
himself ; and as the thought occurred to him
he looked forward with a strange curiosity to
that sudden change, with perhaps its great
revelation. The reflection made him less
dissatisfied with the shallow ends of human
ambition. When the notes of life ring false,
men should correct them by referring to the
tuning-fork of death. It is when that clear
menacing tone is heard that the love of life
grows keenest in the human heart.

All men, from such moods and reflections,
are recalled to earth by hard matters of fact.
He remembered the proclamation he had to
write, and rising plunged into the numerous

184

A COUNCIL OF WAR.

details of the business of living, and thus
forgot the barrenness of life. So he sat and
wrote, while the pale glimmer of the dawn
glowed into the clear light of sunrise and
the warm tints of broad day.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE.

The private breakfast-room of the Presi¬
dential palace was a small but lofty apart¬
ment The walls were hung with tapestries;
over the doors weapons of ancient type and
history were arranged in elaborate patterns.
The great French windows were deeply set
in the wall, and the bright light of the morn¬
ing was softened by heavy crimson curtains.
Like the rest of the house it wore an official
aspect. The windows opened on to the
stone terrace, and those who passed through
them experienced a feeling of relief in ex¬
changing the severe splendours of the palace
for the beautiful confusion of the garden,
where between the spreading trees and slen¬
der palms the sparkling waters of the harbour
were displayed.

The table, which was set for two, was
comfortably small and well arranged. The

*«5

1 86 THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE.

generous revenue which it had long been
the principle of the Lauranian Republic to
bestow on her First Magistrate enabled the
President to live in a style of elegance and
luxury, and to enjoy the attractions of good
silver, fresh-cut flowers, and an excellent
cook. But it was with a clouded brow that
Molara met his wife at breakfast on the
morning after the events which have just
been chronicled.

“ Bad news, — tiresome news again, dear,”
he said as, sitting down and depositing a
handful of papers on the table, he signed to
the servants to leave the room.

Lucile experienced a feeling of intense
relief. After all she would not have to tell
him the secret she had learned. “ Has he
started?” she asked incautiously.

“ Yes, last night ; but he will be stopped.”
“ Thank heaven for that ! ”

Molara looked at her in amazement.
“What do you mean? Why are you glad
that the Admiral and the fleet are prevented
from carrying out my orders ? ”

“The fleet!”

THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE. 1 87

“ Good gracious ! What did you think I
meant ? ” he asked impatiently.

A loophole of escape presented itself.
She ignored his question. “ I am glad the
fleet is stopped because I think they will be
wanted here, now that the city is so un¬
settled.”

“ Oh,” said the President shortly, — sus¬
piciously, she thought. To cover her retreat
she asked a question. “ Why are they
stopped ? ”

Molara pulled out a Press telegram slip
from among his papers.

“ Port Said , September gth, 6.0 a.m.f he
said, reading; “ British steam-collier Maude ,
1,400 tons, grounded this morning in canal,
which is in consequence blocked for traffic.
Every effort is being made to clear the fair¬
way. Accident is believed to be due to the
silting up of channel caused by extreme
draught of H.B.M.S. Aggressor which passed
through last night f He added : “ They
know their business, these English pigs.”

“You think they have done it on purpose?”

“ Of course.”

1 88 THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE.

“ But the fleet is not there yet.”

“It will be there to-morrow night.”

“ But why should they block the channel
now, — why not wait ? ”

“Characteristic dislike of coups de theatre ,
I suppose. Now the French would have
waited till we were at the entrance of the
channel, and then shut the door in our faces
neatly. But British Diplomacy does not aim
at effects ; besides, this looks more natural.”

“ How abominable ! ”

“ And listen to this,” said the President,
as giving way to keen irritation he snatched
another paper from his bundle and began to
read. “ From the Ambassador,” he said :
“ Her Majesty’s Government have instructed
the officers commanding the various British
coaling-stations south of the Red Sea , to ren¬
der every assistance to the Lauranian fleet
and to supply them with coal at the local
market-rated

“ It is an insult,” she said.

“ It is a cat playing with a mouse,” he
rejoined bitterly.

“What will you do?”

THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE. 1 89

“ Do? Sulk, protest, — but give in. What
else can we do? Their ships are on the
spot; ours are cut off.”

There was a pause. Molara read his
papers and continued his breakfast. Lucile
came back to her resolution. She would
tell him ; but she would make terms. Sav-
rola must be protected at all costs. “ An¬
tonio,” she said nervously.

The President, who was in a thoroughly
bad temper, went on reading for a moment
and then looked up abruptly. “ Yes ? ”

“ I must tell you something.”

“ Well, what is it ? ”

“ A great danger is threatening us.”

“ I know that,” he said shortly.

“ Savrola - ” She paused uncertain

and undecided.

“What of him?” said Molara, suddenly
becoming interested.

“ If you were to find him guilty of conspir¬
acy, of plotting revolution, what would you
do?”

“ I should shoot him with the greatest
pleasure in the world.”

I90 THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE.

“What, without a trial?”

“ Oh no ! He should have a trial under
martial law and welcome. What of him ? ”

It was a bad moment. She looked round
for another loophole.

“He — he made a speech last night,”
she said.

“ He did,” said the President impatiently.

“Well, I think it must have been very
inflammatory, because I heard the crowds
cheering in the streets all night.”

Molara looked at her in deep disgust.
“ My dear, how silly you are this morning,”
he said and returned to his paper.

The long silence that followed was broken
by the hurried entrance of Miguel with an
opened telegram. He walked straight up to
the President and handed it to him without
speaking ; but Lucile could see that he was
trembling with haste, excitement, or terror.

Molara opened the folded paper leisurely,
smoothed it on the table and then jumped
out of his chair as he read it. “ Good God !
when did this come ? ”

“ This moment.”

THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE. 1 9 1

“ The fleet,” he cried, “ the fleet, Miguel,
— not an instant must be lost ! Recall the
Admiral ! They must return at once. I
will write the telegram myself.” Crumpling
the message in his hand he hurried out of
the room, Miguel at his heels. At the door
he found a waiting servant. “ Send for
Colonel Sorrento, — to come here immedi¬
ately. Go ! be off ! Run ! ” he cried as the
man departed with ceremonious slowness.

Lucile heard them bustle down the corri¬
dor and the slam of a distant door ; then all
was silent again. She knew what that tele¬
gram contained. The tragedy had burst
upon them all, that tragedy whose climax
must strike her so nearly ; but she felt glad
she had meant to tell her husband, — and
yet more glad that she had not told him.
A cynic might have observed that Savrola s
confidence, in the safety of his secret, was
well founded.

She returned to her sitting-room. The
uncertainty of the immediate future terrified
her. If the revolt succeeded, she and her
husband would have to fly for their lives ; if

192 THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE.

it were suppressed the consequences seemed
more appalling. One thing was clear: the
President would send her out of the capital
at once to some place of safety. Whither ?
Amid all these doubts and conflicting emo¬
tions one desire predominated, — to see Sav-
rola again, to bid him good-bye, to tell him
she had not betrayed him. It was impossi¬
ble. A prey to many apprehensions she
walked aimlessly about the room, awaiting
the developments she feared.

Meanwhile the President and his secre¬
tary had reached the private office. Miguel
shut the door. Both looked at each other.

“ It has come,” said Molara with a long
breath.

“ In an evil hour,” replied the Secretary.

“ I shall win, Miguel. Trust to my star,
my luck, — I will see this thing through.
We shall crush them ; but much is to be
done. Now write this telegram to our agent
at Port Said ; send it in cipher and clear the
line : Charter at once fast despatch-boat and
go personally to meet Admiral de Mello , who
with fleet left Laurania midnight 8 th instant

THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE. 1 93

for Port Said. Stop. Order him in my
name return here urgent. Stop. Spare no
expense. Now send that off. With good luck
the ships should be here to-morrow night.”

Miguel sat down and began to put the
message into code. The President paced
the room excitedly ; then he rang the bell ;
a servant entered.

“ Has Colonel Sorrento come yet ? ”

“ No, Your Excellency.”

“ Send and tell him to come at once.”

“ He has been sent for, Your Excellency.”

“ Send again.”

The man disappeared.

Molara rang; the bell once more. He met

O

the servant in the doorway.

“ Is there a mounted orderly? ”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“ Finished, Miguel ? ”

“ Here,” said the Secretary, getting up and
handing the message to the startled attend¬
ant, — “ at speed.”

“ Go on,” shouted the President, striking
the table with his open hand, and the man
fled from the room. The sound of the gal-

194 THE action of the executive.

loping horse somewhat allayed Molara’s im¬
patience.

“ He crossed the frontier last night at nine
o’clock, Miguel ; he should have been at
Turga at daybreak. We have a garrison
there, a small one, but enough to delay the
advance. Why is there no news ? This
telegram comes from Paris, from the For¬
eign Minister. We should have heard from
— who is it commands the post ? ”

“ I don’t know, Your Excellency. The
Colonel will be here directly; but the silence
is ugly.”

The President set his teeth. “ I cannot
trust the army; they are all disaffected. It
is a terrible game ; but I shall win, I shall
win ! ” He repeated the sentence to himself
several times with more energy than convic¬
tion, as if to fortify his heart.

The door opened. “ Colonel Sorrento,”
announced the usher.

“ Look here, old man,” said Molara famil¬
iarly, — he felt he wanted a friend rather
than a subordinate — “ Strelitz has invaded
us. He crossed the frontier last night with

THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE. 1 95

two thousand men and several Maxim guns,
marching here by Turga and Lorenzo. We
have no news from the Commandant at
Turga; who is he?”

Sorrento was one of those soldiers, not an
uncommon type, who fear little but indepen¬
dent responsibility. He had served under
the President for many years in the field
; and in the Government. Had he been alone
when the news arrived, he would have been
thunderstruck ; now that he had a leader he
followed and obeyed with military precision.
Without any appearance of surprise he
thought for a moment and then replied:
“ Major de Roc. He has four companies, —
a good officer, — you can trust him, Sir.

“ But the troops ? ”

“That’s another matter altogether. The
whole army, as I have several times informed
you, Sir, is disturbed. Only the Guard can
be relied on, and, of course, the officers.

“ Well, we shall see,” said the President
stoutly. “ Miguel, get the map. You know
the country, Sorrento. Between Turga and
Lorenzo, the Black Gorge must be held.

I96 THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE.

Here,” he pointed on the map, which the
Secretary unrolled, “ here they must be
stopped or at any rate delayed, till the fleet
comes back. What is there at Lorenzo ? ”

“A battalion and two machine-guns,” re¬
plied the War-Minister.

The President took a turn up and down
the room. He was used to deciding quickly.
“ A brigade would do it for certain,” he said.
He took another turn. “ Rail two battalions
of the Guard at once to Lorenzo.” Sorrento,
who had produced his note-book, began to
write. “ Two field-batteries,” said the Presi¬
dent. “ Which two are fit, Colonel ? ”

“ The first and second will do,” answered
Sorrento.

“ And the Lancers of the Guard.”

“ All ? ”

“ Yes, all, except details for orderly- work.”

“ That leaves you only one trustworthy
battalion.”

“ I know,” said the President. “ It is a
bold course, but the only one. Now what
about the Line regiments in the city ?
Which are the worst ? ”

THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE. 1 97

“ The third, fifth, and eleventh have caused
us most uneasiness.”

“ Very well; we will get them out of the
way. Let them march to-day towards Lo¬
renzo and halt anywhere ten miles out of
the city as a supporting brigade. Now, who
is to command ? ”

“ Rollo is senior, Sir.”

“ A fool, a fossil, and out of date,” cried
the President.

“ Stupid, but steady,” said Sorrento. “ You
can rely upon his attempting nothing brill¬
iant ; he will do what he is told, and nothing
more.”

Molara reflected on this tremendous mili¬
tary virtue. “ Very well; give him the sup¬
porting brigade ; they will have no fighting.
But the other business; that is different.
Brienz should have it.”

“ Why not Drogan ? ” suggested the War-
Minister.

“ I can’t stand his wife,” said the Presi¬
dent.

“ He is a good musician, Sir,” interposed
Miguel.

198 THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE.

“ Guitar, — very melodious.” He shook
his head appreciatively.

“ And has a capital cook,” added Sorrento.

“ No,” said Molara; “ this is a matter of life
and death. I cannot indulge my prejudices,
nor yours ; he is not a good man.”

“ A good Staff would run him all right,
Sir ; he is very placid and easily led. And
he is a great friend of mine; many’s the
good dinner - ”

“No, Colonel, it’s no good; I cannot. Is
it likely that when so much is at stake, when
my reputation, my chances in life, indeed
life itself, are on the hazard, that I or any
one would give a great command on such
grounds ? If claims were equally balanced,
I would oblige you ; but Brienz is a better
man and must have it. Besides,” he added,
“ he has not got a horrid wife.” Sorrento
looked terribly disappointed but said no
more. “ Well, that is all settled. I leave
all details to you. The Staff, everything,
you may appoint ; but the troops must start
by noon. I will speak to them myself at
the station.”

THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE. 1 99

The War-Minister bowed and departed,
solaced by the minor appointments which
the President had left to his decision.

Molara looked at his secretary dubiously.
“ Is there anything else to do ? None of
the revolutionaries in the city have moved,
have they ? ”

“ They have given no sign, Sir ; there is
nothing to incriminate them.”

“ It is possible this has surprised them ;
their plans are not ready. At the first overt
act of violence or sedition, I will arrest them.
But I must have proofs, not for my own
satisfaction, but for the country.”

“ This is a critical moment,” said the Sec¬
retary. “ If the leaders of the sedition could
be discredited, if they could be made to
appear ridiculous or insincere, it would have
a great effect on public opinion.”

“ I had thought,” replied Molara, “ that
we might hope to learn something of their
plans.”

“ You have informed me that Her Excel¬
lency has consented to ask Senor Savrola
for information on this point ? ”

200 THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE.

“ I dislike the idea of any intimacy be¬
tween them ; it might be dangerous.”

“ It might be made most dangerous for
him.”

“In what way ? ”

“ In the way I have already indicated to
you, General.”

“ Do you mean in the way I forbade you
to suggest, Sir ? ”

“ Certainly.”

“And this is the moment?”

“ Now or never.”

There was a silence, after which they re¬
sumed the morning’s business. For an hour
and a half both worked busily. Then Mo-
lara spoke. “ I hate doing it ; it’s a dirty
job.”

“ What is necessary, is necessary,” said
the Secretary sententiously. The President
was about to make a reply when a clerk
entered the room with a deciphered tele¬
gram. Miguel took it from him, read it,
and passed it to his chief, saying grimly as
he did so : “ Perhaps this will decide you.”

The President read the message, and as

THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE.

201

he read his face grew hard and cruel. It
was from the Police Commissary at Turga,
brief but terrible ; the soldiers had deserted
to the invaders, having first shot their
officers.

“ very well,” said Molara at last, “ I shall
require you to accompany me to-night on a
mission of importance. I will take an aide-
de-camp as well.”

“Yes,” said the Secretary; “witnesses are
necessary.”

“ I shall be armed.”

“ That is desirable, but only as a threat,
only as a threat,” said the Secretary earnestly.
“ He is too strong for violence ; the people
would be up in a moment.”

“ I know that,” curtly replied the President,
and then with savage bitterness he added:
“ but for that there would be no difficulty.”

“ None whatever,” said Miguel, and went
on writing.

Molara rose and went in search of Lucile,
choking down the disgust and repugnance
he felt. He was determined now; it might
just make the difference to him in the

202 THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE.

struggle for power, and besides, it contained
the element of revenge. He would like to
see the proud Savrola grovel and beg for
mercy at his feet. All mere politicians, he
said to himself, were physical cowards ; the
fear of death would paralyse his rival.

Lucile was still in her sitting-room when
her husband entered. She met him with
an anxious look. “What has happened,
Antonio ? ”

“ We have been invaded, dearest, by a large
force of revolutionaries. The garrison of
Turga has deserted to the enemy, and killed
their officers. The end is now in sight.”

“ It is terrible,” she said.

“ Lucile,” he said with unwonted tender¬
ness, “one chance remains. If you could
find out what the leaders of the agitation in
this city intend to do, if you can get Savrola
to show his hand, we might maintain our
position and overcome our enemies. Can
you, — will you do this ? ”

Lucile’s heart bounded. It was, as he
said, a chance. She might defeat the plot,
and at the same time make terms for Savrola ;

THE ACTION OF THE EXECUTIVE. 201,

she might still rule in Laurania, and, though
this thought she repressed, save the man she
loved. Her course was clear ; to obtain the
information and sell it to her husband for
Savrola’s life and liberty. “ I will try,”
she said.

“ I knew you would not fail me, dearest,”
said Molara. “ But the time is short ; go L
and see him to-night at his rooms. He will
surely tell you. You have power over men
and will succeed.”

Lucile reflected. To herself she said,

“ I shall save the State and serve my hus¬
band;” and herself rejoined, “You will see
him again.” Then she spoke aloud. “ I
will go to-night.”

“ My dear, I always trusted you,” said the
President ; “ I will never forget your devo¬
tion.”

Then he hurried away, convulsed with re¬
morse, — and shame. He had indeed stooped
to conquer.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE LOYALTY OF THE ARMY.

The military force of the Lauranian Re¬
public was proportioned to the duties of pro¬
tecting its territories from invasion and of
maintaining law and order within them, but
was by the wisdom of former days restricted
to limits which did not encourage great
schemes of foreign conquest nor any aggres¬
sive meddling in the affairs of the neighbour¬
ing principalities. Four regiments of cavalry,
twenty battalions of foot, and eight field-bat¬
teries comprised the Army of the Line. Be¬
sides these there was the Republican Guard,
which consisted of a regiment of Lancers and
three strong battalions of veteran infantry and
supported by their discipline the authority,
and by their magnificence the dignity, of the
State.

The great capital city, which exceeded in
wealth, population, and turbulence the aggre-

204

THE LOYALTY OF THE ARMY. 20$

gate of the provincial towns, had for its gar¬
rison the Guard and half of the entire army.
The remaining troops were scattered in small
country stations and on the frontiers.

All the pains that the President had taken
to maintain the good will of the soldiery had
proved vain. The revolutionary movement
had grown apace in the ranks of the army,
till they were now thoroughly disaffected,
and the officers felt that their orders would
be obeyed only so far as they were agreeable.
With the Guard it was different. All, or
nearly all, had borne their part in the late
war and had marched to victory under the
generalship of the President. They hon¬
oured and trusted their former commander,
and were in turn honoured and trusted by
him ; indeed the favour he had shewn them
may have been among the causes which had
alienated the rest.

It was the greater part of this Guard that
Molara, in his heavy need, was about to send
against the invaders. He well knew the
danger of depriving himself of the only
troops he could rely on, should the city itself

206 the loyalty of the army.

rise ; but the advancing forces must be
stopped at all hazards, and the Guard alone
were able and willing to do the work. He
would be left almost alone amid the populace
who detested him, in the city he had ruled
so sternly, with mutinous soldiers as his only
defenders. It was not an inviting prospect,
yet it presented some chances of success.
It displayed a confidence which, though as¬
sumed, might decide the waverers and dis¬
gust his foes; and it dealt with the most
pressing emergency, which was after all the
first duty of the Executive. He did not
doubt the ability of the troops he had de¬
spatched to disperse, if not to destroy, the
rabble that had crossed the frontier. That
danger at least was removed by his action.
In two days the fleet would return, and under
its guns his Government might still continue,
feared and respected. The intervening pe¬
riod was the crisis, a crisis which he hoped
to pass safely through, partly by the force of
his personality, and partly by the ridicule
and contempt in which he intended to plunge
his terrible rival.

THE LOYALTY OF THE ARMY.

207

Punctually at eleven o’clock he left his
private office to attire himself in his full uni¬
form as a general of the army, in order that
at the parade the troops might be reminded
that he too was a soldier and one who had
seen much war.

At the door Lieutenant Tiro presented
himself, in a great state of perturbation.
“ Sir, he said, “ you will allow me to go with
my squadron to the front? There will be
nothing for me to do here.”

“ On the contrary,” replied the President,
“ there will be a great deal for you to do
here. You must stay.”

Tiro turned pale. “ I do beg you, Sir,
to allow me to go,” he said earnestly.

“ Impossible, — I want you here.”

“ But, Sir - ”

“ Oh> I know,” said Molara impatiently ;
“you want to get shot at. Stay here, and
I promise you shall hear bullets in plenty
before you have done.” He turned away,
but the look of bitter disappointment on
the young officer’s face induced him to
pause. “ Besides,” he added, assuming that

208

THE LOYALTY OF THE ARMY.

charm of manner of which few great men
are destitute, “ I require you for a service
of difficulty and extreme danger. You have
been specially selected.”

The Subaltern said no more, but he was
only half consoled. He thought ruefully of
the green country, the glinting lances, the
crack of the rifles, and all the interest and
joy of war. He would miss everything ; his
friends would be there, but he would not
share their perils. They would talk of their
adventures in after days and he would have
no part in their discussions; they would
even laugh at him as a “tame cat” of the
palace, an aide-de-camp for ornamental pur¬
poses only. And as he mourned, a distant
trumpet-call stung him like the cut of a
whip. It was Boots and Saddles, — the
Lancers of the Guard were turning out.
The President hurried off to array himself,
and Tiro descended the stairs to order the
horses.

Molara was soon ready, and joined his
aide-de-camp on the steps of the palace.
Attended by a small escort they rode to

THE LOYALTY OF THE ARMY.

209

the railway-station, passing, on the way,
through groups of sullen citizens who stared
insolently, and even spat on the ground in
hatred and anger.

The artillery had already been despatched,
but the entraining of the rest of the troops
had not commenced when the President
arrived, and they were drawn up (the cav¬
alry in mass, the infantry in line of quarter-
columns) in the open space in front of the
terminus. Colonel Brienz, who commanded
the force, was mounted at their head. He
advanced and saluted ; the band struck up
the Republican Hymn, and the infantry pre¬
sented arms with a clash of precision. The
President acknowledged these compliments
with punctilious care ; and then, as the rifles
were shouldered, he rode towards the ranks.

“You have a splendid force, Colonel
Brienz,” he said addressing the Colonel,
but speaking loud enough to be heard by
the troops. “ To your skill and to their
courage the Republic entrusts its safety,
and entrusts it with confidence.” He then
turned to the troops : “ Soldiers, some of

210

THE LOYALTY OF THE ARMY.

you will remember the day I asked you to
make a great effort for your country and
your honour; Sorato is the name that his¬
tory has given to the victory which was
your answer to my appeal. Since then we
have rested in peace and security, protected
by the laurels that have crowned your bayo¬
nets. Now, as the years have passed, those
trophies are challenged, challenged by the
rabble whose backs you have seen so often.
Take off the old laurels, soldiers of the
Guard, and with the bare steel win new
ones. Once again I ask you to do great
things, and when I look along your ranks,
I cannot doubt that you will do them.
Farewell, my heart goes with you ; would
to God I were your leader ! ”

He shook hands with Brienz and with
the senior officers amid loud cheers from
the troops, some of whom broke from the
ranks to press around him, while others
raised their helmets on their bayonets in
warlike enthusiasm. But as the shouting
ceased, a long, discordant howl of derision,
till then drowned by the noise, was heard

THE LOYALTY OF THE ARMY.

21 I

from the watching crowds, — a sinister com¬
ment !

Meanwhile at the other end of the town
the mobilisation of the Reserve Brigade
revealed the extreme contrast between the
loyalty and discipline of the Guard and
the disaffection of the regiments of the
Line.

An ominous silence reigned throughout
the barracks. The soldiers walked about
moodily and sullenly, making little attempt
to pack their kits for the impending march.
Some loitered in groups about the parade-
ground and under the colonnade which ran
round their quarters ; others sat sulking on
their cots. The habit of discipline is hard
to break, but here were men steeling them¬
selves to break it.

These signs did not pass unnoticed by
the officers who awaited in anxious suspense
the hour of parade.

“ Don’t push them,” Sorrento had said to
the colonels, “ take them very gently ; ” and
the colonels had severally replied that they
would answer with their lives for the loyalty

212

THE LOYALTY OF THE ARMY.

of their men. It was nevertheless thought
advisable to try the effect of the order upon a
single battalion, and the nth Regiment was
the first to receive the command to turn
out.

The bugles blew briskly and cheerily, and
the officers, hitching up their swords and
pulling on their gloves, hurried to their re¬
spective companies. Would the men obey
the summons? It was touch and go. Anx¬
iously they waited. Then by twos and
threes the soldiers shuffled out and began
to form up in their ranks. At length the
companies were complete, sufficiently com¬
plete, that is to say, for there were many ab¬
sentees. The officers inspected their units.
It was a dirty parade; the accoutrements
were uncleaned, the uniforms carelessly put
on, and the general appearance of the men
was slovenly to a degree. But of these
things no notice was taken, and as they
walked along the ranks the subalterns found
something to say in friendly chaff to many
of their soldiers. They were greeted how¬
ever with a forbidding silence, a silence not

THE LOYALTY OF THE ARMY. 213

produced by discipline or by respect. Pres¬
ently Markers sounded, the companies moved
to the general parade-ground, and soon the
whole battalion was drawn up in the middle
of the barrack-square.

The Colonel was on his horse, faultlessly
attired, and attended by his Adjutant. He
looked calmly at the solid ranks before him,
and nothing in his bearing revealed the ter¬
rible suspense which filled his mind and
gripped his nerve. The Adjutant cantered
along the column collecting the reports.
“All present, Sir,” said the company com¬
manders, but there were several whose voices
quavered. Then he returned to the Colonel,
and fell into his place. The Colonel looked
at his regiment, and the regiment at their
Colonel.

“ Battalion, — attention ! ” he cried, and
the soldiers sprang up with a clatter and
a click. “ Form, — fours.”

The word of command was loud and
clear. About a dozen soldiers moved at
the call of instinct — moved a little — looked
about them, and shuffled back to their places

214 THE LOYALTY of the army.

again. The rest budged not an inch. A
long and horrid silence followed. The Col¬
onel’s face turned grey.

“ Soldiers,” he said, “ I have given you
an order; remember the honour of the regi¬
ment. Form, — fours.” This time not a
man moved. “As you were,” he shouted
desperately, though it was an unnecessary
command. “ The battalion will advance in
quarter-column. Quick march ! ”

The battalion remained motionless.

“ Captain Lecomte,” said the Colonel,
“ what is the name of the right-hand man
of your company ? ”

“ Sergeant Balfe, Sir,” replied the officer.

“ Sergeant Balfe, I order you to advance.
Quick — march ! ”

The sergeant quivered with excitement ;
but he held his ground.

The Colonel opened his pouch and pro¬
duced his revolver with much deliberation.
He looked carefully at it, as if to see that it
was well cleaned ; then he raised the ham¬
mer and rode up close to the mutineer. At
ten yards he stopped and took aim. “ Quick

THE LOYALTY OF THE ARMY.

215

march ! he said in a low menacing
voice.

It was evident that a climax had been
reached, but at this instant Sorrento, who,
concealed in the archway of the barrack-
gate, had watched the proceedings, rode
into the square and trotted towards the sol¬
diers. The Colonel lowered his pistol.

“Good-morning,” said the War-Minister.

The officer replaced his weapon and
saluted.

“Is the regiment ready to move off?”
and then before a reply could be given he
added : “ A very smart parade, but after all
it will not be necessary to march to-day.
The President is anxious that the men
should have a good night’s rest before
starting, and,” raising his voice, “that they
should drink a bumper to the Republic and
confusion to her enemies. You may dismiss
them, Colonel.”

Fall out, said the Colonel, not even
caring to risk going through the correct
procedure for dismissing.

The parade broke up. The ordered

2 16 THE LOYALTY OF THE ARMY.

ranks dissolved in a crowd, and the sol¬
diers streamed off towards their barracks.
The officers alone remained.

“ I should have shot him, Sir, in another

instant,” said the Colonel.

“No good,” said Sorrento, “ to shoot one
man; it would only infuriate them. I will
have a couple of machine-guns down here
to-morrow morning, and we shall see then
what will happen.”

He turned suddenly, interrupted by a
storm of broken and confused cheering.
The soldiers had almost reached their bar¬
racks ; one man was raised on the shoulders
of others, and surrounded by the rest of the
regiment, waving their helmets, brandishing
their rifles, and cheering wildly.

“ It is the sergeant,” said the Colonel.

“ So I perceive,” replied Sorrento bitterly.
“ A popular man, I suppose. Have you
many noncommissioned officers like that?”
The Colonel made no reply. “ Gentlemen,”
said the War-Minister to the officers who
loitered on the square, “ I would recommend
you to go to your quarters. Y ou are rather

THE LOYALTY OF THE ARMY. 2 1 7

tempting targets here, and I believe your
regiment is a particularly good shooting
regiment. Is it not, Colonel ? ”

With which taunt he turned and rode
away, sick at heart with anger and anxiety,
while the officers of the nth Reffiment of

O

Lauranian Infantry retired to their quarters
to hide their shame and face their danger.

CHAPTER XV.

SURPRISES.

It had been a busy and exciting day
for Savrola. He had seen his followers,
had issued orders, restrained the impetuous,
stimulated the weak, encouraged the timid.
All day long messages and reports had
reached him about the behaviour of the
soldiers. The departure of the Guard, and
the refusal of the supporting brigade to
march, were equally pleasing events. The
conspiracy had now been made known to
so many persons that he doubted the possi¬
bility of keeping it much longer secret from
the Government agents. From every con¬
sideration he felt that the hour had come.
The whole of the elaborate plan that he had
devised had been put into execution. The
strain had been severe, but at length all
the preparations were completed, and the
whole strength of the Revolutionary party

218

SURPRISES.

219

was concentrated for the final struggle.
Godoy, Renos, and the others were collected
at the Mayoralty, whence at dawn the Pro¬
visional Government was to be proclaimed.
Moret, to whom the actual duty of calling
the people to arms had been assigned, in¬
structed his agents at his own house and
made arrangements for the posting of the
proclamation. All was ready. The leader
on whom everything depended, whose brain
had conceived, whose heart had inspired, the
great conspiracy, lay back in his chair. He
needed and desired a few moments’ rest and
quiet reflection to review his schemes, to
look for omissions, to brace his nerves.

A small bright fire burned in the grate,
and all around were the ashes of burnt
papers. For an hour he had been feeding
the flames. One phase of his life was over ;
there might be another, but it was well to
have done with this one first. Letters from
friends, dead now or alienated; letters of
congratulation, of praise that had inspired
his younger ambitions ; letters from brilliant
men and some from beautiful women, — all

220

SURPRISES.

bad met a common fate. Why should these
records be preserved for the curious eye of
unsympathetic posterity? If he perished,
the world might forget him, and welcome;
if he lived, his life would henceforth be
within the province of the historian. A sin¬
gle note, preserved from the general destruc¬
tion, lay on the table beside him. It was the
one with which Lucile had accompanied her
invitation to the State Ball, the only one he
had ever received from her.

As he balanced it in his fingers, his
thoughts drifted away from the busy hard
realities of life to that kindred soul and
lovely face. That episode too was over.
A barrier stood between them. Whatever
the result of the revolt, she was lost to him,
unless — and that terrible unless was preg¬
nant with suggestions of such awful wicked¬
ness that his mind recoiled from it as a
man’s hand starts from some filthy thing he
has by inadvertence touched. There were
sins, sins against the commonwealth of man¬
kind, against the phenomenon of life itself,
the stigma of which would cling through

SURPRISES.

221

death, and for which there was pardon only
in annihilation. Yet he hated Molara with
a fierce hatred ; nor did he care to longer
hide from himself the reason. And with
the recollection of the reason his mind re¬
verted to a softer mood. Would he ever see
her again ? Even the sound of her name
pleased him ; “ Lucile,” he whispered sadly.

There was a quick step outside ; the door
opened, and she stood before him. He
sprang up in mute astonishment.

Lucile looked greatly embarrassed. Her
mission was a delicate one. Indeed she did
not know her own mind, or did not care to
know it. It was for her husband’s sake, she
said to herself; but the words she spoke
belied her. “ I have come to tell you that
I did not betray your secret.”

“ I know, — I never feared,” replied Savrola.

“ How do you know ? ”

“ I have not yet been arrested.”

“ No, but he suspects.”

“ Suspects what ? ”

“ That you are conspiring against the
Republic.”

222

SURPRISES.

“ Oh ! ” said Savrola, greatly relieved ;
“ he has no proofs.”

“ To-morrow he may have.”

“ To-morrow will be too late.”

“ Too late ? ”

“Yes,” said Savrola; “the game begins
to-night.” He took out his watch ; it was
a quarter to eleven.

“ At twelve o’clock you will hear the alarm-
bells. Sit down, and let us talk.”

Lucile sat down mechanically.

“You love me,” he said in an even voice,
looking at her dispassionately, and as if the
whole subject of their relations was but a
psychological problem, “ and I love you.”
There was no answer ; he continued : “ But
we must part. In this world we are divided,
nor do I see how the barrier can be removed.
All my life I shall think of you ; no other
woman can ever fill the empty space. Am¬
bitions I still have : I always had them ; but
love I am not to know, or to know it only to
my vexation and despair. I will put it away
from me, and henceforth my affections will
be as lifeless as those burnt papers. And

SURPRISES.

223

you, — will you forget? In the next few
hours I may be killed ; if so, do not allow
yourself to mourn. I do not care to be re¬
membered for what I was. If I have done
anything that may make the world more
happy, more cheerful, more comfortable, let
them recall the action. If I have spoken a
thought which, rising above the vicissitudes
of our existence, may make life brighter or
death less gloomy, then let them say, ‘ He
said this or he did that.’ Forget the man ;
remember, perhaps, his work. Remember
too that you have known a soul, some¬
where amid the puzzles of the universe,
the complement of your own ; and then
forget. Summon your religion to your
aid; anticipate the moment of forgetting ;
live, and leave the past alone. Can you do
this ? ”

“Never! ’’she answered passionately. “I
will never forget you ! ”

“ We are but poor philosophers,” he said.
“ Pain and love make sport of us and all our
theories. We cannot conquer ourselves or
rise above our state.”

SURPRISES.

2 24

“ Why should we try ? ” she whispered,
looking at him with wild eyes.

He saw and trembled. Then, with the
surge of impulse, he cried, “ My God, how I
love you ! ” and before she could frame a
resolution or even choose her mind, they had
kissed each other.

The handle of the door turned quickly.
Both started back. The door swung open
and the President appeared. He was in
plain clothes, his right hand concealed behind
his back. Miguel followed from out of the
darkness of the passage.

For a moment there was silence. Then
Molara in a furious voice broke out : “ So,
Sir, you attack me in this way also, — coward
and scoundrel ! ” He raised his hand and
pointed the revolver it held full at his
enemy.

Lucile, feeling that the world had broken
up, fell back against the sofa, stunned with
terror. Savrola rose and faced the President.
Then she saw what a brave man he was, for
as he did so he contrived to stand between
the weapon and herself. “ Put down your

SURPRISES.

225

pistol,” he said in a firm voice; “and you
shall have an explanation.”

“ I will put it down,” said Molara, “ when
I have killed you.”

Savrola measured the distance between
them with his eye. Could he spring in
under the shot? Again he looked at the
table where his own revolver lay. He
shielded her, and he decided to stand still.

“ Down on your knees and beg for mercy,
you hound ; down, or I will blow your face
in !

“ I have always tried to despise death, and
have always succeeded in despising you. I
shall bow to neither.”

“ We shall see,” said Molara, grinding his
teeth. “ I shall count five, — one ! ”

There was a pause. Savrola looked at the
pistol barrel, a black spot encircled by a ring
of bright steel; all the rest of the picture
was a blank.

“ Two ! ” counted the President.

So he was to die, — flash off this earth
when that black spot burst into flame. He
anticipated the blow full in his face , and

226

SURPRISES.

beyond he saw nothing, — annihilation, —
black, black night.

“ Three ! ”

He could just see the rifling of the barrel;
the lands showed faintly. That was a won¬
derful invention — to make the bullet spin
as it travelled. He imagined it churning his
brain with hideous energy. He tried to
think, to take one grip of his philosophy or
faith before the plunge; but his physical
sensations were too violent. To the tips of
his fingers he tingled, as the blood surged
through his veins; the palms of his hands
felt hot.

“ Four! ”

Lucile sprang up, and with a cry threw
herself in front of the President. “ Wait,
wait ! ” she cried. “ Have mercy ! ”

Molara met her look, and in those eyes
read more than terror. Then at last he
understood; he started as though he had
caught hold of red-hot iron. “ My God ! it’s
true ! ” he gasped. “ Strumpet ! ” he cried,
as he pushed her from him, striking her with
the back of his left hand in the mouth. She

SURPRISES.

227

shrank into the far corner of the room. He
saw it all now. Hoist with his own petard
he had lost everything. Wild fury took hold
of him and shook him till his throat rattled
and ached. She had deserted him; power
was slipping from his grasp; his rival, his
enemy, the man he hated with all his soul
was everywhere triumphant. He had walked
into the trap only to steal the bait; but he
should not escape. There was a limit to
prudence and to the love of life. His plans,
his hopes, the roar of an avenging crowd, all
faded from his mind. Death should wipe
out the long score that stood between them,
death which settled all, — now on the instant.
But he had been a soldier, and was ever a
practical man in the detail of life. He low¬
ered the pistol and deliberately cocked it;
single action would make certainty more
sure ; then he took good aim.

Savrola, seeing that the moment was upon
him, lowered his head and sprang forward.

The President fired.

But Miguel’s quick intelligence had ap¬
preciated the changed situation, and he

228

SURPRISES.

remembered that there were consequences.
He saw that the trick had become deadly
earnest, and he did not forget the mob. He
struck the pistol up, and the bullet, by a very
little, flew high.

In the smoke and the flash Savrola closed
with his adversary and bore him to the
ground. Molara fell underneath and with
the concussion dropped the revolver. The
other seized it, wrenched himself clear, and
sprang back and away from the prostrate
figure. For a moment he stood there and
watched, while the hungry lust of killing
rose in his heart and made his trigger-finger
itch. Then very slowly the President rose.
The fall had dazed him ; he leaned against
the book-case and groaned.

Below there was a beating at the front
door. Molara turned towards Lucile, who
still cowered in the corner of the room, and
began to revile her. The common, ugly
material of his character showed through
the veneer and polish that varied intercourse
and the conduct of great affairs had super¬
imposed. His words were not fit to hear,

SURPRISES.

229

nor worth remembering ; but they stung her
to the quick and she rejoined defiantly:
“You knew I was here; you told me to
come! You have laid a trap; the fault is
yours ! ” Molara replied by a filthy taunt.
“ I am innocent,” she cried ; “ though I love
him, I am innocent ! Why did you tell me
to come here ? ”

Savrola began to perceive dimly. “ I do
not know,” he said, “ what villainy you have
contrived. I have wronged you too much
to care to have your blood on my head ; but
go, and go quickly ; I will not endure your
foulness. Go ! ”

The President was now recovering his
calmness. “ I should have shot you myself,”
he said, “ but I will have it done by a platoon
of soldiers, — five soldiers and a corporal.”

“The murder will be avenged in either

case.”

« Why did you stop me, Miguel ? ”

“ It is as he says, Your Excellency,” replied
the Secretary. “ It would have been a tacti-
cal error.”

The official manner, the style of address,

2 30

SURPRISES.

the man’s composure, restored the President
to his senses. He walked towards the door
and stopping at the sideboard helped himself
to a glass of brandy with ostentation. “ Con¬
fiscated,” he said, and held it up to the light,
“by order of the Government.” He swal¬
lowed it. “ I will see you shot to-morrow,”
he added, heedless that the other held the
pistol.

“ I shall be at the Mayoralty,” said Sav-
rola ; “ you may come and fetch me if you
dare.”

“ Revolt ! ” said the President. “ Pooh ! I
will stamp it out, and you too, before the
sun has gone down.”

“ Perhaps there may be another ending to
the tale.”

“ One or the other,” said the President.
“You have robbed me of my honour; you
are plotting to rob me of my power. There
is not room for both of us in the world.
You may take your mistress with you to
hell.”

There was a noise of hasty footsteps on
the stairs; Lieutenant Tiro flung open the

SURPRISES.

231

door, but stopped abruptly in astonishment
at the occupants of the room. “ I heard a
shot,” he said.

“Yes,” answered the President; “there
has been an accident, but luckily no harm
was done. Will you please accompany me
to the palace ? Miguel, come ! ”

“You had better be quick, Sir,” said the
Subaltern. “ There are many strange folk
about to-night, and they are building a barri¬
cade at the end of the street.”

“ Indeed ? ” said the President. It is
time we took steps to stop them. Good¬
night, Sir,” he added, turning to Savrola;
“ we shall meet to-morrow and finish our
discussion.”

But Savrola, revolver in hand, looked at
him steadily and let him go in silence, a
silence that for a space Lucile’s sobs alone
disturbed. At length, when the retreating
footsteps had died away and the street door
had closed, she spoke. “ I cannot stop here.”

“ You cannot go back to the palace.”

“ What am I to do, then ? ”

Savrola reflected. “You had better stay

232

SURPRISES.

here for the present. The house is at your
disposal, and you will be alone. I must go
at once to the Mayoralty ; already I am late,
_ it is close on twelve, — the moment ap¬
proaches. Besides, Molara will send police¬
men, and I have duties to discharge which I
cannot avoid. To-night the streets are too
dangerous. Perhaps I shall return in the
morning.”

The tragedy had stunned them both. A
bitter remorse filled Savrola s heart. Her
life was ruined, — was he the cause? He
could not say how far he was guilty or inno¬
cent ; but the sadness of it all was unaltered,
no matter who might be at fault. “ Good¬
bye,” he said rising. “ I must go, though I
leave my heart behind. Much depends on
me, — the lives of friends, the liberties of a
nation.”

And so he departed to play a great game
in the face of all the world, to struggle for
those ambitions which form the greater part
of man’s interest in life ; while she, a woman,
miserable and now alone, had no resource
but to wait.

SURPRISES.

233

And then suddenly the bells began to ring
all over the city with quick impatient strokes.
There was the sound of a far-off bugle-call
and a dull report, — the boom of an alarm-
gun. The tumult grew; the roll of a drum
beating the assembly was heard at the end of
the street; confused shoutings and cries rose
from many quarters. At length one sound
was heard which put an end to all doubts, —
tap , tap , tap , like the subdued slamming of
many wooden boxes — the noise of distant
musketry.

The revolution had begun.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE PROGRESS OF THE REVOLT.

Meanwhile the President and his two
followers pursued their way through the
city. Many people were moving about the
streets, and here and there dark figures
gathered in groups. The impression that
great events were impending grew; the very
air was sultry and surcharged with whisper¬
ings. The barricade, which was being built
outside Savrola’s house, had convinced Mo-
lara that a rising was imminent; half a mile
from the palace the way was blocked by an¬
other. Three carts had been stopped and
drawn across the street, and about fifty men
were working silently to strengthen the
obstruction : some pulled up the flat paving-
stones ; others were carrying mattresses and
boxes filled with earth from the adjacent
houses ; but they paid little attention to the

234

THE PROGRESS OF THE REVOLT. 235

President’s party. He turned up his collar
and pressing his felt hat well down on his
face clambered over the barrier, — the signifi¬
cance of what he saw filling his mind ; the
Subaltern indeed in his undress uniform drew
some curious looks, but no attempt was made
to stop his progress. These men waited for
the signal.

All this time Molara said not a word.
With the approach of danger he made great
efforts to regain his calmness, that he might
have a clear head to meet it ; but for all his
strength of will, his hatred of Savrola filled
his mind to the exclusion of everything else.
As he reached the palace the revolt broke
out all over the city. Messenger after mes¬
senger hurried up with evil news. Some of
the regiments had refused to fire on the
people ; others were fraternising with them ;
everywhere barricades grew and the ap¬
proaches to the palace were on all sides
being closed. The Revolutionary leaders
had gathered at the Mayoralty. The streets
were placarded with the Proclamation of the
Provisional Government. Officers from vari-

236 THE PROGRESS OF THE REVOLT.

ous parts of the town hastened to the palace;
some were wounded, many agitated. Among
them was Sorrento, who brought the terrible
news that an entire battery of artillery had
surrendered their guns to the rebels. By
half-past three it was evident, from the
reports which were received by telegram and
messenger, that the greater part of the city
had passed into the hands of the Revolution¬
aries with very little actual fighting.

The President bore all with a calmness
which revealed the full strength of his hard,
stern character. He had, in truth, a terrible
stimulant. Beyond the barricades and the
rebels who lined them was the Mayoralty
and Savrola. The face and figure of his
enemy was before his eyes ; everything else
seemed of little importance. Yet he found
in the blinding emergency an outlet for his
fury, a counter-irritant for his grief; to crush
the revolt, but above all to kill Savrola, was
his heart’s desire.

“We must wait for daylight,” he said.

“ And what then, Sir ? ” asked the War-
Minister.

THE PROGRESS OF THE REVOLT. 237

“We will then proceed to the Mayoralty
and arrest the leaders of this disturbance.”

The rest of the night was spent in organ¬
ising a force with which to move at dawn.
A few hundred faithful soldiers (men who
had served with Molara in the former war),
seventy officers of the regular army, whose
loyalty was unquestionable, and the remain-
ino- battalion of the Guard with a detach-

O

ment of armed police, were alone available.
This band of devoted men, under fourteen
hundred in number, collected in the open
space in front of the palace-gates, and
guarded the approaches while they waited
for sunrise.

They were not attacked. “Secure the
city,” had been Savrola’s order, and the
rebels were busily at work on the bairicades,
which in a regular system rose on all sides.
Messages of varied import continued to reach
the President. Louvet, in a hurried note,
expressed his horror at the revolt, and ex¬
plained how much he regretted being unable
to join the President at the palace. He had
to leave the city in great haste, he said , a

2 38 THE PROGRESS OF THE REVOLT.

relative was dangerously ill. He adjured
Molara to trust in Providence; for bis part
he was confident that the Revolutionaries
would be suppressed.

The President in his room read this with
a dry, hard laugh. He had never put the
slightest faith in Louvet’s courage, having
always realised that in a crisis he would be
useless and a coward. He did not blame
him ; the man had his good points, and as a
public official in the Home-Office he was
admirable ; but war was not his province.

He passed the letter to Miguel. The
Secretary read it and reflected. He also
was no soldier. It was evident that the aame

o

was up, and there was no need for him to
throw his life away, merely out of sentiment
as he said to himself. He thought of the
part he had played in the drama of the night.
That surely gave him some claims; it would
be possible at least to hedge. He took a
fresh piece of paper and began to write.
Molara paced the room. “ What are you
writing? ” he asked.

“ An order to the Commandant of the

THE PROGRESS OF THE REVOLT.

239

harbour-forts,” replied Miguel promptly, “ to
acquaint him with the situation and tell
him to hold his posts in your name at all
hazards.”

“ It is needless,” said Molara ; “ either his
men are traitors or they are not.”

“ I have told him,” said Miguel quickly,
“ to make a demonstration towards the
palace at dawn, if he can trust his men. It
will create a diversion.”

“Very well,” said Molara wearily ; “but I
doubt it ever reaching him, and he has so
few men that could be spared after the forts
are held adequately.”

An orderly entered with a telegram. The
clerk at the office, a loyalist, an unknown
man of honour, had brought it himself,
passing the line of barricades with extraor¬
dinary good-fortune and courage. While
the President tore the envelope open, Miguel
rose and left the room. Outside in the
brilliantly lighted passage he found a ser¬
vant, terrified but not incapable. He spoke
to the man quickly and in a low voice ;
twenty pounds , the Mayoralty , at all costs,

THE PROGRESS OF THE REVOLT.

were the essentials of his instructions. Then
he re-entered the office.

“ Look here,” said Molara ; “ it is not all
over yet.” The telegram was from Brienz,
near Lorenzo : Clear the line. Strelitz and
force two thousand rebels advanced on the
Black Gorge this afternoon. I have repulsed
them with heavy loss. Strelitz is prisoner.
Am pursuing remainder. / await instruc¬
tions at Turga. “ This must be published
at once,” he said. “ Get a thousand copies
printed, and have them circulated among the
loyalists and as far as possible in the city.”

The news of the victory was received with
cheers by the troops gathered in the palace-
square, and they waited with impatience for
morning. At length the light of day began
to grow in the sky, and other lights, the glow
of distant conflagrations, paled. The Presi¬
dent, followed by Sorrento, a few officers of
high rank, and his aide-de-camp Tiro, de¬
scended the steps, traversed the courtyard
and passing through the great gates of the
palace, entered the square where the last
reserves of his power were assembled. He

THE PROGRESS OF THE REVOLT. 24 1

walked about and shook hands right and left
with these faithful friends and supporters.
Presently his eye caught sight of the rebel
proclamation which some daring hand had
placed on the wall under cover of the dark¬
ness. He walked up and read it by the light
of a lantern. Savrola’s style was not easy to
mistake. The short crisp sentences of the
appeal to the people to take up arms rang
like a trumpet-call. Across the placard a
small red slip, such as are used on theatrical
advertisements to show the time of the per¬
formance, had been posted at a latei hour.
It purported to be the facsimile of a tele
gram and ran thus : Forced Black Gorge this
morning. Dictator s troops in full retreat.
Am marching on Lorenzo. Strelitz.

Molara quivered with fury. Savrola did
not neglect details, and threw few chances
away. “ Infamous liar ! ” was the President’s
comment; but he realised the power of the
man he sought to crush, and for a moment
despair welled in his heart and seemed to
chill his veins. He shook the sensation off
with a great effort.

2\2 THE PROGRESS OF THE REVOLT.

The officers were already in possession of
the details of the plan, whose boldness was
its main recommendation. The rebels had
succeeded in launching their enterprise ; the
Government would reply by a coup d'etat. In
any case the stroke was aimed at the heart
of the revolt, and if it went home the results
would be decisive. “ The octopus of Rebel¬
lion, Gentlemen,” said the President to those
around him, and pointing to the Revolution¬
ary proclamation, “ has long arms. It will
be necessary to cut off his head.” And
though all felt the venture to be desperate,
they were brave men and knew their minds.

The distance from the palace to the May¬
oralty was nearly a mile and a half along a
broad but winding avenue ; by this avenue,
and by the narrower streets on either side,
the force advanced silently in three divisions.
The President marched on foot with the
centre column; Sorrento took command of
the left, which was the threatened flank.
Slowly, and with frequent halts to keep up
communication with each other, the troops
marched along the silent streets. Not a soul

THE PROGRESS OF THE REVOLT. 243

was to be seen : all the shutters of the houses
were closed, all the doors fastened ; and
though the sky grew gradually brighter in
the East, the city was still plunged in gloom.

The advanced files pressed forward up the
avenue, running from tree to tree, and paus¬
ing cautiously at each to peer through the
darkness. Suddenly as they rounded a
bend, a shot rang out in front. “ Forward! ”
cried the President. The bugles sounded
the charge and the drums beat. In the dim
light the outline of a barricade was visible
two hundred yards off, a dark obstruction
across the roadway. The soldiers shouted
and broke into a run. The defenders of the
barricade, surprised, opened an ineffective
fire and then, seeing that the attack was in
earnest and doubtful of its strength, beat a
retreat while time remained. The barricade
was captured in a moment, and the assailants
pressed on elated by success. Behind the
barricade was a cross street, right and left.
Firing broke out everywhere, and the loud
noise of the rifles echoed from the walls of
the houses. The flanking columns had been

244 THE PROGRESS of the revolt.

sharply checked at their barricades, but the
capture of the centre position turned both
of these, and their defenders, fearing to be
cut off, fled in disorder.

It was now daylight, and the scene in the
streets was a strange one. The skirmishers
darted between the trees, and the little blue-
white puffs of smoke spotted the whole pic¬
ture. The retiring rebels left their wounded
on the ground, and these the soldiers bayo¬
neted savagely. Shots were fired from the
windows of the houses and from any shelter
that offered, — - a lamp-post, a pillar-box, a
wounded man, an overturned cab. The rifle-
fire was searching, and the streets were very
bare. In their desire to get cover, to get
behind something, both sides broke into the
houses and dragged out chairs, tables, and
piles of bedding ; and though these were but
little protection from the bullets, men felt
less naked behind them.

All this time the troops were steadily
advancing, though suffering continual loss ;
but gradually the fire of the rebels grew
hotter. More men were hurried to the scene

THE PROGRESS OF THE REVOLT. 245

each moment; the pressure on the flanks
became severe; the enveloping enemy pressed
in down the side streets, to hold which the
scanty force at the President’s disposal had
to be further weakened. At length the
rebels ceased to retreat; they had reached
their guns, four of which were arranged in a
row across the avenue.

The Mayoralty was now but a quarter of a
mile away, and Molara called on his soldiers
for a supreme effort. A dashing attempt to
carry the guns with the bayonet was defeated
with a loss of thirty killed and wounded, and
the Government troops took shelter in a side
street at right angles to the main avenue.
This in turn was enfiladed by the enemy,
who swept round the columns and began to
cut in on their line of retreat.

Firing was now general along a wide half¬
circle. In the hope of driving the impro¬
vised artillery-men from their places, the
troops forced their way into the houses on
either side of the avenue, and climbing along
the roofs began to fire down on their ad¬
versaries. But the rebels, repeating the

246 THE PROGRESS OF THE REVOLT.

manoeuvre, met them and the attempt dwin¬
dled into desperate but purposeless fighting
among the chimney-pots and the skylights.

The President exposed himself manfully.
Moving from one part of the force to
another, he animated his followers by his
example. Tiro, who kept close to him, had
seen enough war to realise that the check
was fatal to their chances. Every moment
was precious ; time was slipping away, and
the little force was already almost completely
encircled. He had taken a rifle and was
assisting to burst in the door of a house,
when to his astonishment he saw Miguel.
The Secretary was armed. He had hitherto
remained carefully in the rear, and had
avoided the danger in the air by hiding
behind the trees of the avenue ; but now he
advanced boldly to the doorway and began
to help in battering it down. No sooner
was this done than he darted in and ran up
the stairs crying out, “We are all soldiers
to-day ! ” Several infantrymen followed him
to fire from the lowest windows, but Tiro
could not leave the President ; he felt, how-

THE PROGRESS OF THE REVOLT. 247

ever, surprised and pleased by Miguel’s
gallantry.

It soon became evident to all that the
attempt had failed. The numbers against
them were too great. A third of the force
had been killed or wounded, when the order
to cut their way back to the palace was
given. On all sides the exulting enemy
pressed fiercely. Isolated parties of soldiers,
cut off from the retiring column, defended
themselves desperately in the houses and
on the roofs. They were nearly all killed
eventually, for everyone’s blood was up, and
it was a waste of time to ask for quarter.
Others set fire to the houses and tried to
escape under cover of the smoke ; but very
few succeeded. Others again, and among
them Miguel, lay hid in closets and cellars,
from which they emerged when men’s tem¬
pers were again human and surrender was
not an unknown word. The right column,
which consisted of five companies of the
Guard battalion, were completely surrounded,
and laid down their arms on the promise of
a rebel general that their lives should be

248 THE PROGRESS OF THE REVOLT.

spared. The promise was kept, and it ap¬
peared that the superior officers among the
Revolutionists were making great efforts to
restrain the fury of their followers.

The main body of the Government troops,
massed in a single column, struggled on
towards the palace losing men at every step.
But in spite of their losses, they were dan¬
gerous people to stop. One party of rebels,
who intercepted their line of retreat, was
swept away in a savage charge, and some
attempt was made to re-form ; but the rifle-
fire was pitiless and incessant, and eventu¬
ally the retreat became a rout. A bloody
pursuit followed in which only some eighty
men escaped capture or death, and with the
President and Sorrento regained the palace
alive. The great gates were closed, and the
slender garrison prepared to defend them¬
selves to the last.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE.

“That,” said Lieutenant Tiro to a Cap¬
tain of Artillery, as they got inside the gate,
“ is about the best I’ve seen so far.”

“ I thought it was a bad business all
through,” replied the other; “and when they
brought the guns up it was a certainty.”

“ It wasn’t the guns that did us,” said the
Lancer Subaltern, who had no exaggerated
idea of the value of artillery; “we wanted
some cavalry.”

“We wanted more men,” answered the
Gunner, not anxious at that moment to
argue the relative values of the different
arms. “ These rear-guard actions are the
devil.”

“ There was a damned sight more action
than there was rear-guard about that last
bit,” said Tiro. “ Do you suppose they cut
up the wounded ? ”

249

250

THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE.

“ Every one of them, I should think ,
they were like wolves at the end.”

“ What’s going to happen now ?

“ They’re going to come in here and finish

us off.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Tiro. His
cheery courage could stand a prolonged test.

“ The fleet will be back soon ; we shall hold
this place till then.”

The palace was indeed not unsuited to
defence. It was solidly built of stone. The
windows were at some distance from the
ground and the lower strongly barred, except
on the garden-side, where the terrace and its
steps gave access to the long F rench win¬
dows. But it was evident that a few good
rifles could forbid the bare and narrow ap¬
proaches in that quarter. Indeed it seemed
as though the architect must have contem¬
plated the occasion that had now arrived, for
he had almost built a stronghold disguised as
a palace. The side which faced the square
seemed to afford the best prospects to an as¬
sault; yet the great gate was protected by
two small towers containing guard-rooms,

THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE. 25 1

and the wall of the courtyard was high and
thick. As it seemed, however, that on this
front the enemy would be able to use their
numbers to the greatest effect, the majority
of the little garrison was concentrated there.

The rebels were wisely and cautiously led.
They did not at once push on to the attack
of the palace ; sure of their prey they could
afford to wait. Meanwhile the surviving ad¬
herents of the Government endeavoured to
make their last foothold secure. Rough-
hewn cobblestones from the pavements of
the courtyard were prised up, and the win¬
dows were with these converted into loop¬
holes through which the garrison might fire
without much exposure. The gates were
closed and barred, and preparations made
to strut them with baulks of timber. Am¬
munition was distributed. The duty and
responsibility of each section of the defence
were apportioned to the various officers. The
defenders recognised that they had entered
on a quarrel which must be carried to a defi¬
nite conclusion.

But Molara’s mood had changed. The

252 THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE.

fury of the night had cooled into the hard,
savage courage of the morning. He had led
the desperate attempt to capture the May¬
oralty, and had exposed himself freely and
even recklessly in the tumult of the fight
that followed ; but now that he had come
through unhurt, had regained the palace,
and realised that his last chance of killing
Savrola had passed, death appeared very
ugly. All the excitement which had sup¬
ported him had died away ; he had had
enough. His mind searched for some way
of escape, and searched vainly. The torture
of the moment was keen. A few hours
might bring help: the fleet would surely
come ; but it would be too late. The great
guns might take vengeance for his death ;
they could not save his life. A feeling of
vexation shook him, and behind it grew
the realisation of the approaching darkness.
Terror began to touch his heart; his nerve
flickered; he had more to fear than the
others. The hatred of the multitude was
centred in him; after all it was his blood
they wanted, — his above all others. It was

THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE. 253

a dreadful distinction. He retired in deep
despondency to his own room, and took no
part in the defence.

At about eleven o’clock the sharpshooters
of the enemy began to make their way into
the houses which surrounded the front of the
palace. Presently from an upper window a
shot was fired ; others followed, and soon a
regular fusilade began. The defenders, shel¬
tered by their walls, replied carefully. Lieu¬
tenant Tiro and a sergeant of the Guards, an
old war-time comrade of Molara’s, were hold¬
ing the window of the guard-room on the
left of the great gate. Both were good
shots. The Subaltern had filled his pock¬
ets with cartridges; the Sergeant arranged
his on the sill in neat little rows of five.
From their position they could shoot right
down the street which led into the square
and towards the gate. Outside the guard-
room a dozen officers and men were still
engaged in making the entrance more se¬
cure. They tried to wedge a great plank
between the ground and the second cross¬
piece ; should the rebels try to rush the gate-

254 THE DEFENCE of the palace.

way, it would thus be strong enough to resist
them.

The fire from the surrounding houses was
annoying rather than dangerous, but several
bullets struck the stones of the improvised
loopholes. The garrison fired carefully and
slowly, anxious not to expend their ammuni¬
tion, or to expose themselves without a result.
Suddenly, about three hundred yards away,
a number of men turned into the street which
led to the gate, and began rapidly pushing
and pulling something forward.

“ Look out,” cried Tiro to the working-
party ; “ they’re bringing up a gun ; ” and
taking good aim he fired at the approaching
enemy. The Sergeant, and all the other de¬
fenders of this side of the palace, fired too
with strange energy. The advancing crowd
slackened speed. Among them men began
to drop. Several in front threw up their
hands; others began carrying these away.
The attack dwindled. Then two or three
men ran back alone. At that all the rest
turned tail and scurried for the cover of the
side street, leaving the gun (one of the cap-

THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE. 255

tured twelve-pounders) standing deserted in
the middle of the roadway, with about a
dozen shapeless black objects lying round it.

The garrison raised a cheer, which was
answered from the surrounding houses by
an increase of musketry.

A quarter of an hour passed and then the
rebels debouched from the side streets into
the main approach and began pushing up
four carts filled with sacks of flour. Again
the defenders fired rapidly. Their bullets,
striking the sacks, raised strange creamy
white clouds; but the assailants, sheltered
by their movable cover, continued to advance
steadily. They reached the gun, and began
emptying the carts by pushing the sacks out
from behind, until a regular breastwork was
formed, behind which they knelt down.
Some began firing; others devoted their
efforts to discharging the gun, on which the
aim of the garrison was now directed. With
a loss of two men they succeeded in loading
it and pointing it at the gate. A third man
advanced to fix the friction-tube by which it
was fired.

256 THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE.

Tiro took steady aim and the distant fig¬
ure collapsed to the shot.

“ Bull’s eye,” said the Sergeant apprecia¬
tively, and leaned forward to fire at another,
who had advanced with desperate bravery to
discharge the piece. He paused long on his
aim, wishing to make certain ; holding his
breath he began gently to squeeze the trig¬
ger, as the musketry-books enjoin. Sud¬
denly there was a very strange sound, half
thud, half smash. Tiro, shrinking swiftly to
the left, just avoided being splashed with
blood and other physical details. The Ser¬
geant had been killed by a bullet which had
come to meet him as he looked through his
loophole. The distant man had fixed his
tube, and, catching up the lanyard, stood
back and aside to fire.

“ Stand from the gate,” shouted Tiro to
the working-party; “ I can’t hold ’em! ” He
raised his rifle and fired on the chance. At
the same instant a great cloud of smoke burst
from the gun and another sprang up at the
palace gate. The woodwork was smashed
to pieces and, with the splinters of the

THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE.

257

shell, flew on, overtaking with death and
wounds the working-party as they scam¬
pered to cover.

A long loud burst of cheering arose on
all sides from the surrounding houses and
streets, and was taken up by the thousands
who were waiting behind and heard the
explosion of the gun. At first the rebel
fire increased, but very soon a bugler be¬
gan to sound perseveringly, and after about
twenty minutes the musketry ceased alto¬
gether. Then from over the barricade a

O

man with a white flag advanced, followed
by two others. The truce was acknowl¬
edged from the palace by the waving of
a handkerchief. The deputation walked
straight up to the shattered gateway, and
their leader, stepping through, entered the
courtyard. Many of the defenders left their
stations to look at him and hear what terms
were offered. It was Moret.

“ I call upon you all to surrender,” he
said. “ Your lives will be spared until you
have been fairly tried.”

“ Address yourself to me, Sir,” said Sor-

258 THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE.

rento stepping forward ; “ I am in command
here.”

“ I call upon you all to surrender in the
name of the Republic,” repeated Moret
loudly.

“ I forbid you to address these soldiers,”
said Sorrento. “ If you do so again, your
flag shall not protect you.”

Moret turned to him. “ Resistance is
useless,” he said. “ Why will you cause
further loss of life ? Surrender, and your
lives shall be safe.”

Sorrento reflected. Perhaps the rebels
knew that the fleet was approaching ; other¬
wise, he thought they would not offer
terms. It was necessary to gain time. “ We
shall require two hours to consider the
terms,” he said.

“ No,” answered Moret decidedly. “ You
must surrender at once, here and now.”

“We shall do no such thing,” replied the
War-Minister. “The palace is defensible.
We shall hold it until the return of the
fleet and of the victorious field-army.”

“ You refuse all terms? ”

THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE.

259

“We refuse all you have offered.”

“ Soldiers,” said Moret turning again to
the men, “ I implore you not to throw away
your lives. I offer fair terms ; do not re¬
ject them.”

“Young man,” said Sorrento with rising
anger, “ I have a somewhat lengthy score
to settle with you already. You are a civil¬
ian and are ignorant of the customs of war.
It is my duty to warn you that, if you con¬
tinue to attempt to seduce the loyalty of
the Government troops, I shall fire at you.”
He drew his revolver.

Moret should have heeded ; but tactless,
brave, and impulsive as he was, he recked
little. His warm heart generously hoped
to save further loss of life. Besides, he did
not believe that Sorrento would shoot him
in cold blood; it would be too merciless.
“ I offer you all life,” he cried ; “ do not
choose death.”

Sorrento raised his pistol and fired. Mo¬
ret fell to the ground, and his blood began
to trickle over the white flag. For a mo¬
ment he twisted and quivered, and then

260 the defence of the palace.

lay still. There were horrified murmurs
from the bystanders, who had not expected
to see the threat carried out. But it is not
well to count on the mercy of such men as
this War-Minister; they live their lives too
much by rule and regulation.

The two men outside the gate, hearing
the shot, looked in, saw, and ran swiftly
back to their comrades, while the garrison,
feeling that they must now abandon all
hope, returned to their posts slowly and
sullenly. The report of a truce had drawn
the President from his room, with a fresh
prospect of life, and perhaps of vengeance,
opening on his imagination. As he came
down the steps into the courtyard, the shot,
in such close proximity, startled him ; when
he saw the condition of the bearer of terms,
he staggered. “ Good God ! ” he said to
Sorrento, “ what have you done ? ”

“ I have shot a rebel, Sir,” replied the War-
Minister, his heart full of misgivings, but try¬
ing to brazen it out, “for inciting the troops
to mutiny and desertion, after due warning
that his flag would no longer protect him.”

THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE.

26l

Molara quivered from head to foot; he
felt the last retreat cut off. “ You have con¬
demned us all to death,” he said. Then he
stooped and drew a paper which protruded
from the dead man’s coat. It ran as fol¬
lows: I authorise you to accept the surrender
of Antonio Molara , ex-P resident of the Re¬
public , and of such officers , soldiers , and ad¬
herents as may be holding the Presidential
Palace. Their lives are to be spared. , and
they shall be protected pending the decision of
the Government. For the Council of Public
Safety , — Savrola. And Sorrento had killed
him, — the only man who could save them
from the fury of the crowd. Too sick at
heart to speak Molara turned away, and as
he did so the firing from the houses of the
square recommenced with savage vigour.
The besiegers knew now how their messen¬
ger had fared.

And all the while Moret lay very still out
there in the courtyard. All his ambitions,
his enthusiasms, his hopes had come to a
full stop; his share in the world’s affairs was
over; he had sunk into the ocean of the

262 THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE.

past, and left scarcely a bubble behind. In
all the contriving of the plot against the
Lauranian Government Savrola’s personality
had dwarfed his. Yet this was a man of
heart and brain and nerve, one who might
have accomplished much; and he had a
mother and two young sisters who loved the
soil he trod on, and thought him the finest
fellow in the world.

Sorrento stood viewing his handiwork for
a long time, with a growing sense of dis¬
satisfaction at his deed. His sour, hard
nature was incapable of genuine remorse,
but he had known Molara for many years
and was shocked to see his pain, and an¬
noyed to think that he was the cause. He
had not realised that the President wished
to surrender; otherwise, he said to himself,
he might have been more lenient. Was
there no possible way of repairing the harm?
The man who had authorised Moret to ac¬
cept their surrender had power with the
crowd; he would be at the Mayoralty, — he
must be sent for, — but how ?

Lieutenant Tiro approached with a coat

THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE. 263

in his hands. Disgusted at his superior’s
brutality, he was determined to express his
feelings, clearly if not verbally. He bent
over the body and composed the limbs; then
he laid the coat over the white expression¬
less face, and rising said insolently to the
Colonel : “ I wonder if they’ll do that for
you in a couple of hours’ time, Sir.”

Sorrento looked at him, and laughed
harshly. “Pooh! What do I care ? When
you have seen as much fighting as I have,
you will not be so squeamish.”

“ I am not likely to see much more, now
that you have killed the only man who could
accept our surrender.”

“ There is another,” said the War-Minis¬
ter, “ Savrola. If you want to live, go and
bring him to call off his hounds.”

Sorrento spoke bitterly, but his words set
the Subaltern’s mind working. Savrola, —
he knew him, liked him, and felt they had
something in common. Such a one would
come if he were summoned ; but to leave
the palace seemed impossible. Although
the attacks of the rebels had been directed

THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE.

against the side of the main entrance only,
a close investment and a dropping musketry
were maintained throughout the complete
circle. To pass the line of besiegers by the
roads was out of the question. Tiro thought
of the remaining alternatives : a tunnel, that
did not exist ; a balloon, there was not one.
Shaking his head at the hopeless problem
he gazed contemplatively into the clear air,
thinking to himself : l< It would take a bird
to do it.”

The palace was connected with the Sen¬
ate-House and with the principal Public
Offices by telephone, and it happened that
the main line of wires from the eastern end
of the great city passed across its roof. Tiro,
looking up, saw the slender threads over¬
head; there seemed to be nearly twenty of
them. The War-Minister followed his gaze.
“ Could you get along the wires ? ” he asked
eagerly.

“ I will try,” answered the Subaltern,
thrilled with the idea.

Sorrento would have shaken his hand,
but the boy stepped backward and saluting

THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE. 265

turned away. He entered the palace, and
ascended the stairs which led to the flat
roof. The attempt was daring and danger¬
ous. What if the rebels should see him in
mid air? He had often shot with a pea-rifle
at rooks, black spots against the sky and
among the branches. The thought seemed
strangely disagreeable ; but he consoled him¬
self with the reflection that men who look
through loopholes at the peril of their lives
have little leisure for aught but aiming,
and rarely let their eyes wander idly. He
stepped out on to the roof and walked to
the telegraph-post. There was no doubt as
to its strength ; nevertheless he paused, for
the chances against him were great, and
death seemed near and terrible. His reli¬
gion, like that of many soldiers, was of little
help; it was merely a jumble of formulas,
seldom repeated, hardly understood, never
investigated, and a hopeful, but unauthor¬
ised, belief that it would be well with him
if he did his duty like a gentleman. He
had no philosophy ; he felt only that he was
risking all that he had, and for what he was

266 THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE.

uncertain. Still, though there were gaps in
his reasoning, he thought it might be done
and he would have a dash for it. He said
to himself, “ It will score off those swine,”
and with this inspiring reflection he dis¬
missed his fears.

He swarmed up the pole to the lowest
wire ; then he pulled himself higher until he
could get his foot on the insulators. The
wires ran on both sides of the pole in two
sets. He stood on the two lowest, took the
top ones under his arms, and, reaching down
over, caught one more in each hand. Then
he started, shuffling awkwardly along. The
span was about seventy yards. As he cleared
the parapet he saw the street beneath him,
— very far beneath him, it seemed. Shots
were continually exchanged from the win¬
dows of the houses and the palace. Sixty
feet below a dead man lay staring up through
the wires undazzled by the bright sun. He
had been under fire before, but this was a
novel experience. As he approached the
middle of the span the wires began to
swing, and he had to hold on tightly. At

THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE. 267

first the slope had been on his side, but
after the centre was passed it rose against
him; his feet slipped often backwards, and
the wires commenced to cut into his armpits.

Two-thirds of the distance was safely ac¬
complished, when the wires under his left
foot parted with a snap and dropped like a
whip-lash against the wall of the opposite
house. His weight fell on his shoulders ;
the pain was sharp; he twisted, — slipped,
— clutched wildly, and recovered himself by
a tremendous effort.

A man at a lower window pulled back
the mattress behind which he was firing
and thrust his head and shoulders out. Tiro
looked down and their eyes met. The man
shouted in mad excitement, and fired his
rifle point-blank at the Subaltern. The
noise of the report prevented him from
knowing how near the bullet had passed;
but he felt he was not shot, and struggled
on till he had passed the street.

It was all up ; yet to turn back was
equally fatal. “ I’ll see it out,” he said to
himself, and dropped from the wires on to

268 THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE.

the roof of the house. The door from the
leads was open. Running down the attic
stairs and emerging on the landing, he
peered over the bannisters; no one was to
be seen. He descended the narrow stair¬
case cautiously, wondering where his enemy
could be. Presently he was opposite the
front room on the second floor. Keeping
close to the wall he peered in. The room
was half-darkened. The windows were
blocked by boxes, portmanteaus, mattresses,
and pillow-cases filled with earth; broken
glass, mingled with bits of plaster from the
walls, littered the floor. By the light which
filtered in through the chinks and loopholes,
he saw a strange scene. There were four
men in the room ; one on his back on the
ground, and the others bending ovei him.
Their rifles were leaned against the wall.
They seemed to have eyes only for their
comrade who lay on the floor in an ever-
widening pool of blood, gurgling, choking,
and apparently making tremendous efforts
to speak.

The Subaltern had seen enough. Oppo-

THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE. 269

site the front room was a doorway covered
by a curtain, behind which he glided. Noth¬
ing was to be seen, but he listened intently.

“ Poor chap,” said a voice, “ he’s got it
real bad.”

“ How did it happen ? ” asked another.

“ Oh, he leaned out of the window to have
a shot, — bullet hit him, — right through
the lungs, I think, — fired in the air, and
shouted.” Then in a lower but still audible
tone he added, “ Done for ! ”

The wounded man began making extraor¬
dinary noises.

“ Su’thin’ he wants to tell ’is pore wife
before he goes,” said one of the Revolution¬
aries, who seemed by his speech a workman.
“ What is it, mate ? ”

“ Give him a pencil and paper ; he can’t
speak.”

Tiro’s heart stood still, and his hand stole
back for his revolver.

For nearly a minute nothing audible hap¬
pened ; then there was a shout.

“ By God, we’ll cop him ! ” said the work¬
man, and all three of them stamped past the

27O THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE.

curtained door and ran up-stairs. One man
paused just opposite ; he was loading his
rifle and the cartridge stuck; he banged it
on the ground, apparently with success, for
the Subaltern heard the bolt click, and the
swift footsteps followed the others towards
the roof.

Then he emerged from his hiding-place
and stole downwards. But as he passed the
open room he could not resist looking in.
The wounded man saw him in an instant.
He half raised himself from the ground and
made terrible efforts to shout ; but no articu¬
late sound came forth. Tiro looked for a
moment at this stranger whom chance had
made his implacable enemy, and then, at the
prompting of that cruel devil that lurks in
the hearts of men and is awakened by blood¬
shed and danger, he kissed his hand to him
in savage, bitter mockery. The other sank
backwards in a paroxysm of pain and fury
and lay gasping on the floor. The Subaltern
hurried away. Reaching the lowest storey
he turned into the kitchen, where the win¬
dow was but six feet from the ground.

THE DEFENCE OF THE PALACE. 27 1

Vaulting on to the sill he dropped into the
backyard, and then, with a sudden feeling
of wild panic, began to run at top speed, —
the terror that springs from returning hope
hard on his track.

CHAPTER XVIII.

FROM A WINDOW.

While the swift succession of great events
in the Lauranian capital had occupied with
immediate emergency the minds of the men,
it had been different with the women. Out
in the streets there had been vivid scenes,
hot blood, and excitement. The dangers of
war, and the occasion of close and involved
fighting, had given many opportunities for
acts of devotion and brutality. The brave
man had displayed his courage; the cruel
had indulged his savagery; all the inter¬
mediate types had been thrilled with the
business of the moment, and there had
scarce been time for any but involuntary
terror. Within the houses it was different.

Lucile started up at the first sound of
firing:. There was not much to hear, a dis-
tant and confused popping with an occa-

272

FROM A WINDOW.

273

sional ragged crash ; but she knew what all
this meant and shuddered. The street be¬
low seemed from the noise to be full of
people. She rose and going to the window
looked down. By the sickly, uncertain light
of the gas-lamps men were working busily at
a barricade, which ran across the street about
twenty yards from the door and on the side
towards the palace. She watched the bust¬
ling figures with strange interest. They dis¬
tracted her thoughts and she felt that if she
had nothing to look at she would go mad
with the dreadful suspense. Not a detail
escaped her.

How hard they worked ! Men with
crowbars and pickaxes were prising up the
paving-stones ; others carried them along,
staggering under their weight; others again
piled them into a strong wall across the
road. There were two or three boys work¬
ing away as hard as any of them. One little
fellow dropped the stone he was carrying on
his foot, and forthwith sat down to cry bit¬
terly. His companion came up and kicked
him to stimulate his efforts, but he only cried

FROM A WINDOW.

274

the more. Presently a water-cart arrived,
and the thirsty builders went by threes and
fours to drink, dipping two tin mugs and a
gallipot in the water.

The people in the houses round were
made to open their doors, and the rebels
unceremoniously dragged out all sorts of
things to put on their barricade. One party
discovered several barrels which they ap¬
peared to consider a valuable prize. Knock¬
ing in the end of one cask they began filling
it, spadeful by spadeful, with the earth which
the removal of the pavement had laid bare.
It was a long business, but at last they
finished and tried to lift the barrel on to the
wall; but it was too heavy, and falling with
a crash to the ground it broke all in pieces.
At this they were furious and disputed
angrily, till an officer with a red sash came
up and silenced them. They did not attempt
to fill the other casks, but re-entering the
house brought out a comfortable sofa and
sat down on it sullenly, lighting their pipes.
One by one, however, they got to work again, .
coming out of their sulky fit by degrees, and

FROM A WINDOW.

275

careful of their dignity. And all this time
the barricade grew steadily.

Lucile wondered why no one had entered
Savrola’s house. Presently she perceived
the reason ; there was a picket of four men
with rifles on the doorstep. Nothing had
been forgotten by that comprehensive mind.
So the hours passed. From time to time
her thoughts reverted to the tragedy which
had swept upon her life, and she would sink
back on to the sofa in despair. Once, from
sheer weariness, she dozed for an hour. The
distant firing had died away and, though
single shots were occasionally heard, the
city was generally silent. Waking with a
strange feeling of uneasy trouble she ran
again to the window. The barricade was
completed now, and the builders were lying
down behind it. Their weapons leaned
against the wall on which two or three
watchers stood, looking constantly up the
street.

Presently there was a hammering at the
street-door, which made her heart beat with
fear. She leaned cautiously out of the win-

276 FROM A WINDOW.

dow. The picket was still at its post, but
another man had joined them. Finding that
he could not obtain an answer to his knock¬
ing, he stooped down, pushed something
under the door, and went his way. After a
time she summoned up courage to creep
down, through the darkness of the staircase,
to see what this might be. By the light of
a match she saw that it was a note addressed
simply Lucile with the number of the house
and street, — for the streets were all num¬
bered in Laurania as in American cities. It
was from Savrola, in pencil and to this effect:
The city and forts have passed into our hands,
but there will be fighting at daylight . On no
account leave the house or expose yourself.

Fighting at daylight ! She looked at the
clock, — a quarter to five, and already the
sky was growing brighter ; the time was at
hand then ! Fear, grief, anxiety, and, not
the least painful, resentment at her husband
conflicted in her mind. But the sleeping
figures behind the barricade seemed to be
troubled by none of these feelings ; they lay
silent and still, weary men who had no cares.

FROM A WINDOW.

277

But she knew it was coming, something loud
and terrible that would wake them with a
start. She felt as though she was watching
a play at the theatre, the window suggesting
a box. She had turned from it for a mo¬
ment, when suddenly a rifle-shot rang out,
apparently about three hundred yards down
the street towards the palace. Then there
was a splutter of firing, a bugle-call, and the
sound of shouting. The defenders of the
barricade sprang up in mad haste and seized
their weapons. There was more firing, but
still they did not reply, and she dared not
put her head out of the window to see what
prevented them. They were all greatly ex¬
cited, holding their rifles over the barricade,
and many talking in quick short sentences.
In a moment a crowd of men, nearly a hun¬
dred it seemed, ran up to the wall and began
scrambling over, helped by the others. They
were friends, then ; it occurred to her that
there must be another barricade, and that
the one under the window was in the second
line. This was actually the case, and the
first had been captured. All the time fir

FROM A WINDOW.

278

ing from the direction, of the palace con¬
tinued.

As soon as the fugitives were all across
the wall, the defenders of the second line
began to fire. The rifles close by sounded
so much louder than the others, and gave
forth such bright flashes. But the light was
growing every minute, and soon she could
see the darting puffs of smoke. The rebels
were armed with many kinds of firearms.
Some, with old, muzzle-loading muskets, had
to stand up and descend from the barricade
to use their ramrods ; others, armed with
more modern weapons, remained crouching
behind their cover and fired continually.

The scene, filled with little foreshortened
figures, still suggested the stage of a theatre
viewed from the gallery. She did not as yet
feel frightened; no harm had been done,
and no one seemed to be any the worse.

She had scarcely completed this thought
when she noticed a figure being lifted off
the barricade to the ground. In the grow¬
ing daylight the pale face showed distinctly,
and a deadly feeling of sickness came over

FROM A WINDOW.

279

her in a moment ; but she stood spell-bound
by the sight. Four men went off with the
wounded one, carrying him by the shoulders
and feet, so that he drooped in the middle.
When they had passed out of her view, she
looked back to the wall. There were five
more men wounded ; four had to be carried,
the other leaned on a comrade’s arm. Two
more figures had also been pulled off the
barricade, and laid carelessly on the pave¬
ment out of the way. Nobody seemed to
take any notice of these, but just let them
lie close to the area-railings.

Then from the far end of the street came
the sound of drums and the shrill call of a
bugle, repeated again and again. The rebels
began to shoot in mad excitement as fast as
they could ; several fell, and above the noise
of the firing rose a strange sound, a sort of
hoarse, screaming whoop, coming momen¬
tarily nearer.

A man on the barricade jumped off and
began to run down the street ; five, six
others followed at once ; then all the defend¬
ers but three hurried away from that strange

280

FROM A WINDOW.

approaching cry. Several tried to drag with
them the wounded, of which there already
were a few more ; these cried out in pain
and begged to be left alone. One man, she
saw, dragging another by the ankle, bump¬
ing him along the rough roadway in spite of
his entreaties. The three men who had
stayed fired methodically from behind their
breastwork. All this took several seconds ;
and the menacing shout came nearer and
louder all the time.

Then in an instant a wave of men, —
soldiers in blue uniforms faced with buff —
surged up to the barricade and over it. An
officer, quite a boy, in front of them all,
jumped down the other side, shouting,
“ Make a clear sweep of the cowardly devils,
— come on ! ”

The three steadfast men had disappeared
as rocks beneath the incoming tide. Crowds
of soldiers climbed over the barricade ; she
could see groups of them swarming round
each of the wounded rebels, jobbing down¬
wards with their bayonets savagely. And
then the spell broke, the picture swam, and

FROM A WINDOW.

281

she rushed screaming from the window to
plunge her face among the sofa-cushions.

The uproar was now terrific. The mus¬
ketry-fire was loud and continuous, especially
from the direction of the main avenue which
lan parallel to the street in which Savrola
lived, and the shouting and trampling of men
added to the din. Gradually the wave of
fighting rolled past the house and on towards
the Mayoralty. As she realised this, all her
own troubles returned to her mind. The
fight was going against the rebels; she
thought of Savrola. And then she prayed,
— prayed convulsively, sending her entreaties
into space in the hope that they would not
fall on unheeding ears. She spoke no name ;
but the gods, who are omniscient, may
have guessed, with sardonic smiles, that she
prayed for the victory of the rebel she loved
over her husband, the President.

Presently there was a tremendous noise
from the direction of the Mayoralty. “ Can¬
non,” she thought, but she dared not look
out of the window; the horrid sights had
sickened curiosity itself. But she could hear

282

FROM A WINDOW.

the fire coming nearer, coming back again ;
and at that she felt a strange joy ; something
of the joy of success in war, amid all her
terrors. There was a noise of people stream¬
ing past the house; shots were fired under
the windows ; then came a great hammering
and battering at the street-door. They were
breaking into the house ! She rushed to the
door of the room and locked it. Down-stairs
there were several shots, and the noise of
splintering wood. The firing of the retreat¬
ing troops drifted back past the house and
towards the palace ; but she did not heed it ;
another sound paralysed her attention, the
sound of approaching footsteps. Someone
was coming up-stairs. She held her breath.
The handle turned, and then the unknown,
finding the door locked, kicked it savagely.
Lucile screamed.

1

The kicking ceased, and she heard the
stranger give a dreadful groan. “ For the
mercy of Heaven, let me in ! I am wounded
and have no arms.” He began to wail piti¬
fully.

Lucile listened. It seemed that there was

FROM A WINDOW.

283

but one, and if he were wounded, he would not
harm her. There was another groan outside.
Human sympathy rose in her heart; she
unlocked the door and opened it cautiously.

A man walked quickly into the room : it
was Miguel. “ I beg Your Excellency’s par¬
don, he said suavely, with that composure
which always strengthened his mean soul ;
“ I am in need of a hiding-place.”

“ But your wound ? ” she said.

“ A ruse-de-gtierre ; I wanted you to let me
in. Where can I hide ? They may be here
soon.”

“ There on the roof, or in the observatory,”
she said pointing to the other door.

“ Do not tell them.”

“Why should I?” she replied. Calm
though the man undoubtedly was, she de¬
spised him ; there was no dirt, she knew well,
that he would not eat if it suited his purpose
to do so.

He went up and concealed himself on the
roof under the big telescope. Meanwhile
she waited. Emotions had succeeded each
other so rapidly that day in her heart that

FROM A WINDOW.

284

she felt incapable of further stress; a dull
feeling of pain remained, like the numbness
and sense of injury after a severe wound.
The firing receded towards the palace, and
presently all was comparatively silent in the
city again.

At about nine o’clock the bell of the front-
entrance rang ; but she did not dare to leave
the room now that the door was broken
down. Then after a while came the sound
of people coming up-stairs.

“There is no lady here; the young lady
went back the night before last to her
aunt’s,” said a voice. It was the old woman’s ;
with a bound of joy and a passionate craving
for the sympathy of her own sex, Lucile
rushed to the door and opened it. Bettine
was there, and with her an officer of the
rebel army, who handed a letter to her with
these words : “ The President sends this to
you, Madam.”

“ The President ! ”

“ Of the Council of Public Safety.”

The note merely informed her that the
Government troops had been repulsed and

FROM A WINDOW.

285

ended with the words : Only one result is
now possible , and that will be attained in a
few hours.

The officer, saying that he would wait
down-stairs in case she might wish to send
an answer, left the room. Lucile pulled the
old nurse inside the door and embraced her,
weeping. Where had she been all that
terrible night? Bettine had been in the
cellar. It seemed that Savrola had thought
of her as of everything ; he had told her to
take her bed down there, and had even had
the place carpeted and furnished on the pre¬
ceding afternoon. There she had remained
as he had told her. Her perfect trust in her
idol had banished all fears on her own ac¬
count, but she had “ fidgeted terribly ” about
him. He was all she had in the world ,
others dissipate their affections on a hus¬
band, children, brothers, and sisters; all the
love of her kind old heart was centred in
the man she had fostered since he was a
helpless baby. And he did not forget. She
displayed with pride a slip of paper, bearing
the words, Safe and well.

286

FROM A WINDOW.

There was now a subdued sound of firing,
from the direction of the palace, which con¬
tinued throughout the morning ; but Miguel,
seeing that the streets were again quiet,
emerged from his concealment and re-entered
the room. “ I want to see the President,”
he said.

“ My husband ? ” asked Lucile.

“No, Your Excellency, Senor Savrola.”
Miguel was quick in adapting himself to
circumstances.

Lucile thought of the officer; she men¬
tioned him to Miguel. “ He will take you
to the Mayoralty.”

The Secretary was delighted; he ran
down-stairs and they saw him no more.

The old nurse, with a practical soul, busied
herself about getting breakfast. Lucile, to
divert her thoughts, aided her, and soon —
such is our composition — found comfort in
eggs and bacon. They were relieved to find
that a picket had again been posted at
the street-door. Bettine discovered this, for
Lucile, her mood unchanged, would not look
into the street where she had seen such grim

FROM A WINDOW.

287

spectacles. And she did right, for though
the barricade was now deserted, nearly
twenty objects that had a few hours before
been men, lay around or upon it. But
about eleven some labourers arrived with two
scavengers’ carts ; and soon only the blood¬
stains on the pavement showed that there
had been any destruction other than that of
property.

The morning wore slowly and anxiously
away. The firing near the palace was con¬
tinual, but distant. Sometimes it swelled
into a dull roar, at others the individual shots
sounded in a sort of quick rattle. At last,
at about half-past two, it stopped abruptly.
Lucile trembled. The quarrel had been
decided, one way or the other. Her mind
refused to face all the possibilities. At times
she clung in passionate fear to the old nurse,
who tried in vain to soothe her; at others
she joined her in the household tasks, or sub¬
mitted to tasting the various meals which the
poor old soul prepared for her in the hopes
of killing care with comfort.

The ominous silence that followed the

288

FROM A WINDOW.

cessation of the firing did not last long. It
was while Lucile was being coaxed by Bet-
tine to eat some custard-pudding that she
had made on purpose for her, that the report
of the first great gun reached them. The
tremendous explosion, though a long way off,
made the windows rattle. She shuddered.
What was this ? She had hoped that all was
over; but one explosion succeeded another,
until the thunder of a cannonade from the
harbour almost drowned their voices. It
was a weary waiting for the two women.

CHAPTER XIX.

AN EDUCATIONAL EXPERIENCE.

Lieutenant Tiro reached the Mayoralty
in safety, for though the streets were full of
excited people, they were peaceful citizens,
and on his proclaiming that he had been
sent to see Savrola they allowed him to pass.
The Municipal building was a magnificent
structure of white stone, elaborately deco¬
rated with statuary and sculpture. In front
of it, surrounded by iron railings and acces¬
sible by three gateways, stretched a wide
courtyard, in which a great fountain, encir¬
cled by the marble figures of departed civic
magnates, played continually with agreeable
effect. The whole edifice was worthy of
the riches and splendour of the Lauranian
capital.

Two sentries of the rebel forces stood on
guard with fixed bayonets at the central

289

29O AN EDUCATIONAL EXPERIENCE.

gateway, and allowed none to enter without
due authority. Messengers were hurrying
across the courtyard incessantly, and order¬
lies coming or going at a gallop. With¬
out the gates a large crowd, for the most
part quiet, though greatly agitated, filled the
broad thoroughfare. Wild rumours circu¬
lated at random in the mass and the excite¬
ment was intense. The sound of distant
firing was distinct and continuous.

Tiro made his way through the crowd
without much difficulty, but found his path
blocked by the sentries at the gateway.
They refused to allow him to proceed, and
for a moment he feared that he had run his
risks in vain. Luckily, however, he was
recognised as Molara’s aide-de-camp by one
of the Municipal attendants who were loiter¬
ing in the courtyard. He wrote his name
on a piece of paper and requested the man
to take it to Savrola or, as he was now
styled, the President of the Council of Pub¬
lic Safety. The servant departed, and after
ten minutes returned with an officer, resplen¬
dent with the red sash of the Revolutionary

AN EDUCATIONAL EXPERIENCE. 29 1

party, who bade the Subaltern follow him
forthwith.

The hall of the Mayoralty was full of
excited and voluble patriots who were eager
to serve the cause of Liberty, if it could be
done without risking their lives. They all
wore red sashes and talked loudly, discuss¬
ing the despatches from the fight which
arrived by frequent messengers and were
posted on the walls. Tiro and his guide
passed through the hall and hurrying along
a passage arrived at the entrance of a small
committee-room. Several ushers and mes¬
sengers stood around it ; an officer was on
duty outside. He opened the door and
announced the Subaltern.

“ Certainly,” said a well-known voice, and
Tiro entered. It was a small, wainscotted
apartment with two tall and deeply set
glazed windows shaded by heavy, faded
curtains of reddish hue. Savrola was writ¬
ing at a table in the middle of the room ;
Godoy and Renos were talking near one of
the windows ; another man, whom for the
moment he did not recognise, was busily

292 AN EDUCATIONAL EXPERIENCE.

scribbling in the corner. The great Demo¬
crat looked up.

“ Good-morning, Tiro,” he said cheerily,
then, seeing the serious and impatient look
on the boy’s face, he asked him what had
happened. Tiro told him quickly of the
President’s wish to surrender the palace.
“ Well,” said Savrola, “ Moret is there, and
he has full powers.”

“ He is dead.”

“How?” asked Savrola, in a low pained
voice.

“ Shot in the throat,” replied the Subal¬
tern laconically.

Savrola had turned very white ; he was
fond of Moret and they had long been
friends. A feeling of disgust at the whole
struggle came over him ; he repressed it ;
this was no time for regrets. “You mean
that the crowd will accept no surrender ? ”

“ I mean they have probably massacred
them all by now.”

“ What time was Moret killed ? ”

“ A quarter-past twelve.”

Savrola took up a paper that lay beside

AN EDUCATIONAL EXPERIENCE.

293

him on the table. “ This was sent off at
half-past twelve.”

Tiro looked at it. It was signed Moret
and ran as follows: Am preparing for final
assault. All well.

“ It is a forgery,” said the Subaltern simply.
“ I started myself before the half-hour, and
Senor Moret had been dead ten minutes
then. Somebody has assumed the com¬
mand.”

“ By Jove,” said Savrola getting up from
the table. “ Kreutze ! ” He caught up his
hat and cane. “ Come on ; he will most
certainly murder Molara, and probably the
others, if he is not stopped. I must go there
myself.”

“ What ? ” said Renos. “ Most irregular ;
your place is here.”

“ Send an officer,” suggested Godoy.

“ I have none to send of sufficient power
with the people, unless you will go yourself.”

“ I ! No, certainly not ! I would not think
of it,” said Godoy quickly. “ It would be
useless ; I have no authority over the mob.”

“That is not quite the tone you have

294 an educational experience.

adopted all the morning,” replied Savrola
quietly, “or at least since the Government
attack was repulsed.” Then turning to Tiro,
he said, “ Let us start.”

They were leaving the room when the
Subaltern saw that the man who had been
writing in the corner was looking at him.
To his astonishment he recognised Miguel.

The Secretary bowed satirically. “ Here
we are again,” he said ; “ you were wise to
follow.”

“You insult me,” said Tiro with profound
contempt. “ Rats leave a sinking ship.”

“ The wiser they,” rejoined the Secretary ;
“ they could do no good by staying. I have
always heard that aides-de-camp are the first
to leave a fight.”

“You are a damned dirty dog,” said the
Subaltern falling back on a rudimentary
form of repartee with which he was more
familiar.

“ I can wait no longer,” said Savrola in
a voice that was a plain command. Tiro
obeyed, and they left the room.

Walking down the passage and through

AN EDUCATIONAL EXPERIENCE.

295

the hall, where Savrola was loudly cheered,
they reached the entrance, where a carriage
was waiting. A dozen mounted men, with
red sashes and rifles, ranged themselves
about it as an escort. The crowd outside
the gates, seeing the great leader and hear¬
ing the applause within, raised a shout. Sav¬
rola turned to the commander of the escort.
“ 1 need no guard,” he said ; “ that is neces¬
sary only for tyrants. I will go alone.” The
escort fell back. The two men entered the
carriage and, drawn by strong horses, passed
out into the streets.

“You dislike Miguel?” asked Savrola
after a while.

“ He is a traitor.”

“ There are plenty about the city. Now I
suppose you would call me a traitor.”

“ Ah ! but you have always been one,”
replied Tiro bluntly. Savrola gave a short
laugh. “ I mean,” continued the other,
“that you have always been trying to upset
things.”

“ I have been loyal to my treachery,” sug¬
gested Savrola.

296 AN EDUCATIONAL EXPERIENCE.

u Yes, _ we have always been at war with

you ; but this viper - ”

“ Well,” said Savrola, “ you must take men
as you find them ; few are disinterested.
The viper, as you call him, is a poor crea¬
ture ; but he saved my life, and asked me to
save his in return. What could I do ? Be¬
sides he is of use. He knows the exact state
of the public finances and is acquainted with
the details of the foreign policy. What are
we stopping for ? ”

Tiro looked out The street was closed
by a barricade which made it a cul-de-sac.

“ Try the next turning,” he said to the
coachman; “go on quickly” The noise
of the firing could now be distinctly heard.
“We very nearly pulled it off this morn¬
ing,” said Tiro.

“Yes,” answered Savrola; “they told me
the attack was repulsed with difficulty.”

“ Where were you ? ” asked the boy in
great astonishment.

“At the Mayoralty, asleep; I was very
tired.”

Tiro was conscious of an irresistible feel-

AN EDUCATIONAL EXPERIENCE. 297

ing of disgust. So he was a coward, this
great man. He had always heard that
politicians took care of their skins, and
sent others to fight their battles. Some¬
how he had thought that Savrola was dif¬
ferent : he knew such a lot about polo ; but
he was the same as all the rest.

Savrola, ever quick to notice, saw his
look and again laughed dryly. “You think
I ought to have been in the streets? Be¬
lieve me, I did more good where I was.
If you had seen the panic and terror at the
Mayoralty during the fighting, you would
have recognised that there were worse
things to do than to go to sleep in confi¬
dence. Besides, everything in human power
had been done; and we had not miscalcu¬
lated.”

Tiro remained unconvinced. His good
opinion of Savrola was destroyed. He had
heard much of this man’s political courage.
The physical always outweighed the moral
in his mind. He felt reluctantly convinced
that he was a mere word-spinner, brave
enough where speeches were concerned,

298 AN EDUCATIONAL EXPERIENCE.

but careful when sterner work was to be
done.

The carriage stopped again. “ All these
streets are barricaded, Sir,” said the coach¬
man.

Savrola looked out of the window. “We
are close there, let us walk ; it is only half
a mile across Constitution Square.” He
jumped out. The barricade was deserted, as
were the streets in this part of the town.
Most of the violent rebels were attacking
the palace, and the peaceable citizens were
in their houses or outside the Mayoralty.

They scrambled over the rough wall, which
was made of paving-stones and sacks of earth
piled under and upon two waggons, and
hurried down the street beyond. It led to
the great square of the city. At the further
end was the Parliament House, with the
red flag of revolt flying from its tower.
An entrenchment had been dug in front
of the entrance, and the figures of some of
the rebel soldiery were visible on it.

They had gone about a quarter of the
distance across the square, when suddenly,

AN EDUCATIONAL EXPERIENCE.

299

from the entrenchment or barricade three
hundred yards away, there darted a puff of
smoke; five or six more followed in quick
succession. Savrola paused, astonished, but
the Subaltern understood at once. “ Run
for it!” he cried. “The statue, — there is
cover behind it.”

Savrola began to run as fast as he could.
The firing from the barricade continued.
He heard two sucking kisses in the air;
something struck the pavement in front of
him so that the splinters flew, and while he
passed a grey smudge appeared ; there was
a loud tang on the area-railings beside him ;
the dust of the roadway sprang up in several
strange spurts. As he ran, the realisation of
what these things meant grew stronger; but
the distance was short and he reached the
statue alive. Behind its massive pedestal
there was ample shelter for both.

“ They fired at us.”

“ They did, ” replied Tiro. “ Damn them ! ”

“ But why ? ”

“ My uniform — devilry — running man —
good fun, you know — for them.”

3°°

an educational experience.

“ We must go on,” said Savrola.

“ We can’t go on across the square.

“ Which way, then ? ”

“We must work down the street away
from them, keeping the statue between us
and their fire, and get up one of the streets
to the left.”

A main street ran through the centre of
the great square, and led out of it at right
angles to the direction in which they were
proceeding. It was possible to retire down
this under cover of the statue, and to take a
parallel street further along. This would
enable them to avoid the fire from the en¬
trenchment, or would at least reduce the
dangerous space to a few yards. Savrola
looked in the direction Tiro indicated.
“Surely this is shorter,” he said pointing
across the square.

“ Much shorter,” answered the Subaltern ;
“in about three seconds it will take you to
another world.”

Savrola rose. “ Come on,” he said ; “ I do
not allow such considerations to affect my
judgment. The lives of men are at stake ,

AN EDUCATIONAL EXPERIENCE. 3OI

the time is short. Besides, this is an educa¬
tional experience.”

The blood was in his cheeks and his eyes
sparkled ; all that was reckless in him, all
his love of excitement, stirred in his veins.
Tiro looked at him amazed. Brave as he
was, he saw no pleasure in rushing to his
death at the heels of a mad politician ; but
he allowed no man to show him the way.
He said no more, but drew back to the far
end of the pedestal, so as to gain pace, and
then bounded into the open and ran as fast
as he could run.

How he got across he never knew. One
bullet cut the peak of his cap, another tore
his trousers. He had seen many men killed
in action, and anticipated the fearful blow
that would bring him down with a smash on
the pavement. Instinctively he raised his
left arm as if to shield his face. At length
he reached safety, breathless and incredu¬
lous. Then he looked back. Half way
across was Savrola, walking steadily and
drawn up to his full height. Thirty yards
away he stopped and, taking off his felt hat,

302

AN EDUCATIONAL EXPERIENCE.

waved it in defiance at the distant barricade.
Tiro saw him start as he lifted his arm, and
his hat fell to the ground. He did not pick
it up, and in a moment was beside him, his
face pale, his teeth set, every muscle rigid.
“ Now tell me,” he said, “do you call that a
hot fire ? ”

“ You are mad,” replied the Subaltern.

“ Why, may I ask ? ”

“ What is the use of throwing away your
life, of waiting to taunt them ? ”

“ Ah,” he answered, much excited, “ I
waved my hat in the face of Fate, not at
those wretched irresponsible animals. Now
to the palace ; perhaps we are already too
late.”

They hurried on through the deserted
streets with the sound of musketry growing
ever louder, and mingling with it now the
shouts and yells of a crowd. As they ap¬
proached the scene they passed through
groups of people, peaceful citizens for the
most part, anxiously looking towards the
tumult. Several glanced fiercely at the sol¬
dier whose uniform made him conspicuous ;

AN EDUCATIONAL EXPERIENCE.

303

but many took off their hats to Savrola. A
long string of stretchers, each with a pale,
shattered figure on it, passed by, filing slowly
away from the fight. The press became
thicker, and arms were now to be seen on
all sides. Mutinous soldiers still in their
uniforms, workmen in blouses, others in the
dress of the National Militia, and all wear¬
ing the red sash of the revolt, filled the
stieet. But Savrola’s name had spread be¬
fore him and the crowd divided, with cheers,
to give him passage.

Suddenly the firing in front ceased, and
for a space there was silence, followed by
a spluttering volley and a low roar

from many throats.

“ Its all over,” said the Subaltern.

“ Faster! ” cried Savrola.

CHAPTER XX.

THE END OF THE QUARREL.

About a quarter of an hour after Lieu¬
tenant Tiro had escaped along the tele¬
graph-wires, the attack on the palace was
renewed with vigour. It seemed, moreover,
that the rebels had found a new leader, for
they displayed considerable combination in
their tactics. The firing increased on all
sides. Then, under cover of their musketry,
the enemy debouched simultaneously from
several streets, and, rushing down the great
avenue, delivered a general assault. The
garrison fired steadily and with effect, but
there were not enough bullets to stop the
advancing crowds. Many fell, but the rest
pressed on impetuously and found shelter
under the wall of the courtyard. The de¬
fenders, realising they could no longer hold
this outer line of defence, fell back to the

304

THE END OF THE QUARREL. 305

building itself, where they maintained them¬
selves among the great pillars of the en¬
trance, and for some time held the enemy’s
fire in check by shooting accurately at all
those who put their heads over the wall or
exposed themselves. Gradually, however,
the rebels, by their great numbers, gained
the supremacy in the fire-fight, and the de¬
fenders in their turn found it dangerous to
show themselves to shoot.

The musketry of the attack grew heavier,
while that of the defence dwindled. The
assailants now occupied the whole of the
outer wall, and at length completely silenced
the fire of the surviving adherents of the
Government. Twenty rifles were discharged
at any head that showed ; yet they showed a
prudent respect for these determined men,
and gave no chances away. Under cover
of their fire, and of the courtyard wall, they
brought up the field-gun with which the gate
had been broken in, and from a range of a
hundred yards discharged it at the palace.
The shell smashed through the masonry,
and burst in the great hall. Another fol-

306 the end of the quarrel.

lowed, passing almost completely through
the building and exploding in the break-
fast-room on the further side. The curtains,
carpets, and chairs caught fire and began to
burn briskly ; it was evident that the defence
of the palace was drawing to a close.

Sorrento, who had long schooled himself
to look upon all events of war from a purely
professional standpoint, and who boasted
that the military operation he preferred
above all others was the organising of a
rearguard from a defeated army, felt that
nothing further could be done. He ap¬
proached the President.

Molara stood in the great hall where he
had lived and ruled for five years with a
bitter look of despair upon his face. The
mosaic of the pavement was ripped and
scored by the iron splinters of the shells ;
great fragments of the painted roof had
fallen to the ground ; the crimson curtains
were smouldering; the broken glass of the
windows lay on the floor, and heavy clouds
of smoke were curling in from the further
side of the palace. The President’s figure

THE END OF THE QUARREL.

307

and expression accorded well with the scene
of ruin and destruction.

Sorrento saluted with much ceremony.
He had only his military code to believe in,
and he took firm hold of that. “Owing,
Sir,” he began officially, “ to the rebels hav¬
ing brought a gun into action at close range,
it is my duty to inform you that this place
has now become untenable. It will be neces¬
sary to capture the gun by a charge, and
expel the enemy from the courtyard.”

The President knew what he meant ; they
should rush out and die fighting. The agony
of the moment was intense ; the actual dread
of death was increased by the sting of unsat¬
isfied revenge ; he groaned aloud.

Suddenly a loud shout arose from the
crowd. They had seen the smoke of the
fire and knew that the end was at hand.

“ Molara, Molara, come out ! Dictator,” they
cried, “ come out or burn ! ”

It often happens that, when men are con¬
vinced that they have to die, a desire to bear
themselves well and to leave life’s stage with
dignity conquers all other sensations. Mo-

308 the end of the quarrel.

lara remembered that, after all, he had lived
famous among men. He had been almost a
king. All the eyes of the world would be
turned to the scene about to be enacted ,
distant countries would know, distant ages
would reflect. It was worth while dying
bravely, since die he must.

He called his last defenders around him.
There were but thirty left, and of these some
were wounded. “ Gentlemen,” he said, “ you
have been faithful to the end ; I will demand
no more sacrifices of you. My death may
appease those wild beasts. I give you back
your allegiance, and authorise you to sur¬
render.”

“ Never! ” said Sorrento.

“ It is a military order, Sir,” answered the
President, and walked towards the door.
He stepped through the shattered woodwork
and out on the broad flight of steps. The
courtyard was filled with the crowd. Molara
advanced until he had descended half way ;
then he paused. “ Here I am,” he said. The
crowd stared. For a moment he stood there
in the bright sunlight. His dark blue uni-

THE END OF THE QUARREL.

309

form-coat, on which the star of Laurania and
many ordeis and decorations of foreign coun¬
tries glittered, was open, showing his white
shirt beneath it. He was bare-headed and
drew himself up to his full height. For a
while there was silence.

Then from all parts of the courtyard, from
the wall that overlooked it and even from
the windows of the opposite houses, a ragged
fusilade broke out. The President’s head
jerked forward, his legs shot from under him
and he fell to the ground, quite limp. The
body rolled down two or three steps and lay
twitching feebly. A man in a dark suit of
clothes, and who apparently exercised au¬
thority over the crowd, advanced towards it.
Presently there was a single shot.

At the same moment Savrola and his
companion, stepping through the broken
gateway, entered the courtyard. The mob
gave passage readily, but in a sullen and
guilty silence.

“ Keep close to me,” said Savrola to the
Subaltern. He walked straight towards the
steps which were not as yet invaded by

310 THE END OF THE QUARREL.

the rebel soldiery. The officers among the
pillars had, with the cessation of the firing,
begun to show themselves ; someone waved
a handkerchief.

“Gentlemen,” cried Savrola in a loud voice,
“ I call upon you to surrender. Your lives
shall be spared.”

Sorrento stepped forward. “ By the orders
of His Excellency I surrender the palace and
the Government troops who have defended
it. I do so on a promise that their lives
shall be safe.”

“ Certainly,” said Savrola. “ Where is the
President ? ” Sorrento pointed to the other
side of the steps. Savrola turned and walked
towards the spot.

Antonio Molara, sometime President of
the Republic of Laurania, lay on the three
lowest steps of the entrance of his palace,
head downwards ; a few yards away in a ring
stood the people he had ruled. A man in a
black suit was reloading his revolver; it was
Karl Kreutze, the Number One of the Secret
Society. The President had bled profusely
from several bullet-wounds in the body, but

THE END OF THE QUARREL. 31 I

it was evident that the coup de grace had
been administered by a shot in the head. The
back and left side of the skull behind the ear
was blown away, and the force of the explo¬
sion, probably at close quarters, had cracked
all the bones of the face so that as the skin
was whole, it looked like broken china in a
sponge bag.

Savrola stopped aghast. He looked at
the crowd, and they shrank from his eye;
gradually they shuffled back, leaving the
sombre-clad man alone face to face with the
great Democrat. A. profound hush over¬
spread the whole mass of men. “ Who has
committed this murder?” he asked in low
hoarse tones, fixing his glance on the head
of the Secret Society.

It is not a murder,” replied the man
doggedly ; “ it is an execution.”

“ By whose authority ? ”

“ In the name of the Society.”

When Savrola had seen the body of his
enemy, he was stricken with horror, but at
the same time a dreadful joy convulsed his
heart; the barrier was now removed. He

312 THE END OF THE QUARREL.

struggled to repress the feeling, and of the
struggle anger was born. Kreutze’s words
infuriated him. A sense of maddening
irritation shook his whole system. All this
must fall on his name ; what would Europe
think, what would the world say? Remorse,
shame, pity, and the wicked joy he tried to
crush, all fused into reckless ungovernable
passion. “ Vile scum ! ” he cried, and step¬
ping down he slashed the other across the
face with his cane.

The man sprang at his throat on the
sudden impulse of intense pain. But Lieu¬
tenant Tiro had drawn his sword; with a
strong arm and a hearty good will he met
him with all the sweep of a downward cut,
and rolled him on the ground.

The spring was released, and the fury of
the populace broke out. A loud shout arose.
Great as was Savrola’s reputation among the
Revolutionaries, these men had known other
and inferior leaders more intimately. Karl
Kreutze was a man of the people. His
socialistic writings had been widely read ; as
the head of the Secret Society he had certain

THE END OF THE QUARREL.

313

assured influences to support him, and he had
conducted the latter part of the attack on the
palace. Now he had been destroyed before
their eyes by one of the hated officers. The
crowd surged forward shouting in savage
anger.

Savrola sprang backwards up the steps.
“ Citizens, listen to me ! ” he cried. “ You
have won a victory; do not disgrace it. Your
valour and patriotism have triumphed ; do
not forget that it is for our ancient Constitu¬
tion that you have fought.” He was inter¬
rupted by shouts and jeers.

What have I done ? ” he rejoined. “ As
much as any here. I too have risked my life
in the great cause. Is there a man here that
has a wound ? Let him stand forth, for we
are comrades.” And for the first time, with
a proud gesture, he lifted his left arm. Tiro
perceived the reason of the start he had
given when running the gauntlet in Consti¬
tution Square. The sleeve of his coat was
torn and soaked with blood; the linen of his
shirt protruded crimson ; his fingers were
stiff and smeared all over.

3H

THE END OF THE QUARREL.

The impression produced was tremendous.
The mob, to whom the dramatic always ap¬
peals with peculiar force, were also swayed
by that sympathy which all men feel for
those injured in a common danger. A re¬
vulsion took place. A cheer, faint at first,
but growing louder, rose ; others outside the
courtyard, ignorant of the reason, took it up.
Savrola continued.

“ Our State, freed from tyranny, must start
fair and unsullied. Those who have usurped
undue authority, not derived from the people,
shall be punished, whether they be presidents
or citizens. These military officers must
come before the judges of the Republic and
answer for their actions. A free trial is the
right of all Lauranians. Comrades, much
has been done, but we have not finished yet.
We have exalted Liberty; it remains to pre¬
serve her. These officers shall be lodged in
prison; for you there is other work. The
ships are coming back ; it is not yet time to
put away the rifles. Who is there will see
the matter through, — to the end ? ”

A man, with a bloodstained bandage round

3i5

THE END OF THE QUARREL.

his head, stepped forward. “ We are com¬
rades,” he cried ; “ shake hands.”

Savrola gripped him. He was one of the
subordinate officers in the rebel army, a sim¬
ple honest man whom Savrola had known
slightly for several months. “I entrust a
high duty to you. Conduct these officers
and soldiers to the State Prison; I will send
full instructions by a mounted messenger.
Where can you find an escort?” There
was no lack of volunteers. “ To the Prison
then, and remember that the faith of the Re¬
public depends on their safety. Forward,
Gentlemen, he added, turning to the sur¬
viving defenders of the palace ; “ your lives
are safe, upon my honour.”

“ The honour of a conspirator,” sneered
Sorrento.

“ As you like, Sir, but obey.”

The party, Tiro alone remaining with Sav¬
rola, moved off, surrounded and followed by
many of the crowd. While they did so a
dull heavy boom came up from the sea¬
front ; another and another followed in quick
succession. The fleet had returned at last.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE RETURN OF THE FLEET.

Admiral de Mello had been true to his
word, and had obeyed the order which had
reached him through the proper channel.
He was within a hundred miles of Port Said
when the despatch-boat, with the Agent of
the Republic, had been met. He at once
changed his course, and steamed towards the
city he had so lately left. His fleet con¬
sisted of two battleships, which, though slow
and out of date, were yet formidable ma¬
chines, two cruisers, and a gunboat. The
inopportune bursting of a steam-pipe on
board the flagship, the Fortuna , caused a
delay of several hours, and it was not till two
o’clock in the afternoon of the second day
that he rounded the point and saw the har¬
bour and city of Laurania rise fair and white
on the starboard bow. His officers scanned

3^6

THE RETURN OF THE FLEET. 3 1 7

the capital, which was their home and of
whose glories they were proud, with anxious
eyes ; nor were their fears unfounded. The
smoke of half a dozen conflagrations rose
from among the streets and gardens; the
foreign shipping had moved out of the basin
and lay off in the roads, for the most part
under steam ; a strange red flag flew from
the fort at the end of the mole.

The Admiral, signalling for half-speed,
picked his way towards the mouth of the
channel cautiously. It was so contrived
that a vessel in passing must be exposed to
a cross-fire from the heavy guns in the bat¬
teries. The actual passage was nearly a
mile wide, but the navigable channel itself
was dangerously narrow and extremely diffi¬
cult. De Mello, who knew every foot of it,
led the way in the For tuna ; the two cruis¬
ers, Sorato and Petrarch , followed ; the
gunboat Rienzi was next, and the other bat¬
tleship, Saldanho , brought up the rear.
The signal was made to clear for action;
the men were beat to quarters; the officers
went to their posts, and the fleet, assisted by

3 1 8 THE RETURN OF THE FLEET.

a favourable tide, steamed slowly towards the
entrance.

The rebel gunners wasted no time in for¬
malities. As the Fortuna came into the
line of fire, two great bulges of smoke
sprang from the embrasures ; the nine-inch
guns of the seaward battery were dis¬
charged. Both shells flew high and roared
through the masts of the warship, who in¬
creased her speed to seven knots and stood
on her course followed by her consorts. As
each gun of the forts came to bear, it was
fired, but the aim was bad, and the projec¬
tiles ricochetted merrily over the water, rais-
ing great fountains of spray, and it was not
until the leading ship had arrived at the
entrance of the channel, that she was struck.

A heavy shell, charged with a high explo¬
sive, crashed into the port-battery of the
Fortuna , killing and wounding nearly sixty
men, as well as dismounting two out of the
four guns. This roused the huge machine ;
the forward turret revolved and, turning
swiftly towards the fort, brought its great
twin guns to bear. Their discharge was

THE RETURN OF THE FLEET.

319

almost simultaneous, and the whole ship
staggered with the violence of the recoil.
Both shells struck the fort and exploded on
impact, smashing the masonry to splinters
and throwing heaps of earth into the air;
but the haim done was slight. Safe in their
bomb-proofs, the rebel gunners were ex¬
posed only to the danger of missiles enter-
ing the embrasures ; while such guns as
fired from barbette mountings were visible
only at the moment of discharge.

Nevertheless the great ship began literally
to spout flame in all directions, and her
numerous quick-firing guns searched for the
embrasures, sprinkling their small shells
with prodigal rapidity. Several of these
penetrated, and the rebels began to lose
men. As the ships advanced, the cross-fire
grew hotter, and each in succession replied
furiously. The cannonade became tremen¬
dous, the loud explosions of the heavy guns
being almost drowned by the incessant rat¬
tle of the quick firers ; the waters of the har¬
bour were spotted all over with great spouts
of foam, while the clear air showed the white

32°

THE RETURN OF THE FLEET.

smoke-puffs of the bursting shells. The
main battery of the Fortuna was completely
silenced. A second shell had exploded with
a horrid slaughter, and the surviving sailors
had fled from the scene to the armoured
parts of the vessel ; nor could their officers
induce them to return to that fearful sham¬
bles, where the fragments of their comrades
lay crushed between masses of senseless
iron. The sides of the ships were scored
and torn all over, and the copious streams
of water from the scuppers attested the
energy of the pumps. The funnel of the
Fortuna had been shot off almost level with
the deck, and the clouds of black smoke
floating across her quarters drove the gun¬
ners from the stern-turret and from the
after-guns. Broken, dismantled, crowded
with dead and dying, her vitals were still
uninjured, and her captain, in the conning
tower, feeling that she still answered the
helm, rejoiced in his good fortune and held
on his course.

The cruiser Petrarch had her steam steer¬
ing-gear twisted and jammed by a shell, and

THE RETURN OF THE FLEET. 32 I

becoming unmanageable grounded on a sand¬
bank. The forts, redoubling their fire, be¬
gan to smash her to pieces. She displayed
a white flag and stopped firing: but of this
no notice was taken, and as the other ships
dared not risk going ashore in helping her,
she became a wreck and blew up at three
o’clock with a prodigious report.

The Saldanho, who suffered least and was
very heavily armoured, contrived to shelter
the gunboat a good deal, and the whole
fleet passed the batteries after forty minutes’
fisTtin^ and with a loss of two hundred
and twenty men killed and wounded, ex¬
clusive of the entire crew of the Petrarch ,
who were all destroyed. The rebel loss was
about seventy, and the damage done to the
forts was slight. But it was now the turn
of the sailors. The city of Laurania was
at their mercy.

The Admiral brought his ships to anchor
five hundred yards from the shore. He
hoisted a flag of truce, and as all his boats
had been smashed in running the gauntlet,
he signalled to the Custom-House that he

32 2 THE RETURN OF THE FLEET.

was anxious for a parley, and desired that
an officer should be sent.

After about an hour’s delay, a launch
put out from the jetty and ran alongside
the Fortuna. Two rebel officers in the uni¬
form of the Republican Militia, and with
red sashes round their waists, came on
board. De Mello received them on his
battered quarter-deck, with extreme polite¬
ness. Rough sailor as he was, he had
mixed with men of many lands, and his
manners were invariably improved by the
proximity of danger or the consciousness
of power. “ May I ask,” he said, “ to what
we are indebted for this welcome to our
native city ? ”

The senior of the two officers replied that
the forts had not fired till they were fired
upon. The Admiral did not argue the
point, but asked what had happened in the
city. On hearing of the Revolution and of
the death of the President, he was deeply
moved. Like Sorrento, he had known Mo-
lara for many years, and he was an honest,
open-hearted man. The officers continued

THE RETURN OF THE FLEET.

323

that the Provisional Government would ac¬
cept his surrender and that of his ships,
and would admit him and his officers to
honourable terms as prisoners of war. He
produced the authorisation of the Commit¬
tee of Public Safety, signed by Savrola.

De Mello somewhat scornfully requested
him to be serious.

The officer pointed out that the fleet in
its battered condition could not again run
the gauntlet of the batteries and would be
starved out.

To this De Mello replied that the forts
at the head of the harbour were in like
condition, as his guns now commanded both
the approaches by the military mole and the
promontory. He also stated that he had six
weeks’ provisions on board and added that
he thought he had sufficient ammunition.

His advantage was not denied. “ Un¬
doubtedly, Sir,” said the officer, “it is in
your power to render great services to the
Provisional Government and to the cause
of Liberty and Justice.”

“At present,” replied the Admiral dryly,

324

THE RETURN OF THE FLEET.

“it is the cause of Justice that appears to
need my support.”

To that the officers could find no more
to say than that they had fought for a free
Parliament and meant to have their way.

The Admiral took a turn or two before
replying. tl My terms are these, he said at
last. “ The leader of the conspiracy — this
man, Savrola — must be surrendered at once
and stand his trial for murder and rebellion.
Until this has been done, I will not treat.
Unless this is done by six o’clock to-morrow
morning, I shall bombard the town and shall
continue to do so until my terms are com¬
plied with.”

Both officers protested that this would be
a barbarity, and hinted that he would be
made to answer for his shells. The Admiral
declined to discuss the matter or to consider
other terms. As it was impossible to move
him, the officers returned to the shore in
their launch. It was now four o’clock.

As soon as this ultimatum was reported
to the Committee of Public Safety at the
Mayoralty, something very like consternation

THE RETURN OF THE FLEET.

325

ensued. The idea of a bombardment was
repugnant to the fat burgesses who had
joined the party of revolt so soon as it had
become obvious that it was the winning side.
It was also distasteful to the Socialists who,
however much they might approve of the
application of dynamite to others, did not
themselves relish the idea of a personal ac¬
quaintance with high explosives.

The officers related their interview and
the Admiral’s demands.

“ And if we refuse to comply ? ” inquired
Savrola.

“ Then he will open fire at six o’clock to¬
morrow morning.”

“ Well, Gentlemen, we shall have to grin
and bear it. They will not dare to shoot
away all their ammunition, and so soon as
they see that we are determined, they will give
in. Women and children will be safe in the
cellars, and it may be possible to bring some
of the guns of the forts to bear on the har¬
bour.” There was no enthusiasm. “ It
will be an expensive game of bluff,” he
added.

326 THE RETURN OF THE FLEET.

“ There is a cheaper way,” said a Socialist
delegate from the end of the table, signifi¬
cantly.

“ What do you propose ? ” asked Savrola
looking hard at him; the man had been a
close ally of Kreutze.

“ I say that it would be cheaper if the
leader of the revolt were to sacrifice himself
for the sake of Society.”

“ That is your opinion ; I will take the
sense of the Committee on it.” There were
cries of “No! No!” and “Shame!” from
many present. Some were silent ; but it was
evident that Savrola had the majority. “ Very
well,” he said acidly; “the Committee of
Public Safety do not propose to adopt the
honourable member’s suggestion. He is over¬
ruled,” — here he looked hard at the man,
who blenched, — “ as he will frequently be
among people of civilised habits.”

Another man got up from the end of the
long table. “Look here,” he said roughly;
“ if our city is at their mercy, we have hos¬
tages. We have thirty of these popinjays
who fought us this morning ; let us send and

THE RETURN OF THE FLEET.

327

tell the Admiral that we shall shoot one for
every shell he fires.”

There was a murmur of assent. Many
approved of the proposal, because they
thought that it need never be carried into
execution, and all wanted to prevent the
shells. Savrola’s plan, however wise, was
painful. It was evident that the new sug¬
gestion was a popular one.

“ It is out of the question,” said Savrola.

“ Why? ” asked several voices.

Because, Sirs, these officers surrendered
to terms, and because the Republic does not
butcher innocent men.”

“ Let us divide upon it,” said the man.

“ I protest against a division. This is not
a matter of debate or of opinion ; it is a mat¬
ter of right and wrong.”

“ Nevertheless I am for voting.”

“And I,” “And I,” “And I,” shouted
many voices.

The voting went forward. Renos sup¬
ported Savrola on legal grounds; the case
of the officers was now sub judice , so he said.
Godoy abstained. The majority in favour

328 THE RETURN OF THE FLEET.

of the proposal was twenty-one to seven¬
teen.

The count of hands was received with
cheering. Savrola shrugged his shoulders.
“ It is impossible that this can go on. Are
we become barbarians in a morning ? ”

“ There is an alternative,” said Kreutze’s

friend.

“ There is, Sir ; an alternative that I should
gladly embrace before this new plan was
carried out. But, in a low menacing tone,
“ the people will be invited to pronounce an
opinion first, and I may have an oppoitunity
of showing them their real enemies and mine.”

The man made no reply to the obvious
threat; like all the others he stood in con¬
siderable awe of Savrola’s power with the
mob and of his strong dominating character.
The silence was broken by Godoy, who said
that the matter had been settled by the
Committee. A note was therefore drafted
and despatched to the Admiral, informing
him that the military prisoners would be
shot should he bombard the city. After
further discussion the Committee broke up.

THE RETURN OF THE FLEET. 329

Savrola remained behind, watching the
members move slowly away talking as they
went. Then he rose and entered the small
room he had used as his office. His spirits
were low. Slight as it was, his wound hurt
him ; but worse than that, he was conscious
that there were hostile influences at work ; he
was losing his hold over the Party. While
victory was still in the balance he had been
indispensable ; now they were prepared to
go on alone. He thought of all he had gone
through that day; the terrible scene of the
night, the excitement and anxiety while the
fighting was going on, the strange experi¬
ence in the square, and, last of all, this grave
matter. His mind, however, was made up.
He knew enough of De Mello to guess what
his answer would be. “ They are soldiers,”
he would say; “they must give their lives
if necessary. No prisoner should allow his
friends to be compromised on his account.
They should not have surrendered.” When
the bombardment began he could imagine
fear turning to cruelty, and the crowd carry¬
ing out the threat that their leaders had

330

THE RETURN OF THE FLEET.

made. Whatever happened, the affair could
not be allowed to continue.

He rang the bell. “ Ask the Secretary to
come here,” he said to the attendant. The
man departed, and in a few moments re¬
turned with Miguel. “ What officer has
charge of the prison ? ”

“ I don’t think the officials have been
altered ; they have taken no part in the
Revolution.”

“ Well, write an order to the Governor to
send the prisoners of war, the military offi¬
cers taken this afternoon, in closed carriages
to the railway station. They must be there
at ten o’clock to-night.”

“ Are you going to release them ? ” asked
Miguel opening his eyes.

“ I am going to send them to a place of
security,” answered Savrola ambiguously.

Miguel began to write the order without
further comment. Savrola took the tele¬
phone off the table and rang up the railway-
station. “ Tell the traffic-manager to come
and speak to me. Are you there ? — The
President of the Executive Committee of the

THE RETURN OF THE FLEET.

331

Council of Public Safety — do you hear?
Have a special train, — accommodation for
thirty — ready to start at ten p.m. Clear
the line to the frontier, — yes, — right to the
frontier.”

Miguel looked up from his writing quickly,
but said nothing. Although he had deserted
the President when he saw that he was ruined
and his cause lost, he hated Savrola with a
genuine hatred. An idea came into his
head.

CHAPTER XXII.

life’s compensations.

Much had happened, though but a few
hours had passed since Savrola left his house
to hurry to the Mayoralty. The deep and
intricate conspiracy, which had been grow¬
ing silently and in secret for so many months,
had burst on the world’s stage and electrified
the nations. All Europe had learned with
amazement of the sudden and terrible con¬
vulsion that in a few hours had overthrown
the Government which had existed for five
years in Laurania. In the fighting that had
raged throughout the ninth of September
upwards of fourteen hundred persons had
been killed and wounded. The damage
done to property had been enormous. The
Senate-House was in flames ; the palace had
been destroyed ; both, together with many
shops and private houses, had been looted
by the mob and the mutineers. Fires were

3 33

life’s compensations. 333

still smouldering in several parts of the city ;
in many homes there were empty places and
weeping women ; in the streets the ambu¬
lances and municipal carts were collecting
the corpses. It had been a momentous day
in the annals of the State.

And all through the terrible hours Lucile
had waited, listening to the sound of the
musketry, which, sometimes distant and fit¬
ful, sometimes near and sustained, suggested
the voice of a wrathful giant, now sunk in
sulky grumblings, now raised in loud invec¬
tive. She had listened in sorrow and sus¬
pense, till it was lost in the appalling din of
the cannonade. At intervals, between the
bathos of the material consolations of the
old nurse, — soup, custards, and the like — -
she had prayed. Until four o’clock, when
she had received a message from Savrola ac¬
quainting her with the tragedy at the palace,
she had not dared to add a name to her
appeals ; but thenceforward she implored a
merciful Providence to save the life of the
man she loved. Molara she did not mourn :
terrible and cruel as was his death, she could

334 ' life’s compensations.

not feel she had suffered loss; but the idea
that he had been killed on her account filled
her heart with a dreadful fear of guilt. If
that were so, she said to herself, one barrier
was removed only to be replaced by another.
But the psychologist might cynically aver
that force and death were the only obstacles
that would restrain her affection for Savrola,
for above all she prayed for his return, that
she might not be left alone in the world.

Her love seemed all that was left to her
now, but with it life was more real and
strongly coloured than in the cold days at
the palace amid splendour, power, and admi¬
ration. She had found what she had lacked,
and so had he. With her it was as if the
rising sunbeam had struck the rainbow from
the crystal prism, or flushed the snow peak
with rose, orange, and violet. With Savrola,
in the fierce glow of love the steady blue-
white fires of ambition had become invisi¬
ble. The human soul is subjected to many
refining agents in the world’s crucible. He
was sensible of a change of mood and
thought; no longer would he wave his hat

life’s compensations.

335

at Fate ; to his courage he had now added
caution. From the moment when he had
seen that poor, hideous figure lying on the
steps of the palace, he had felt the influence
of other forces in his life. Other interests,
other hopes, other aspirations had entered
his mind. He searched for different ideals
and a new standard of happiness.

Very worn and very weary he made his
way to his rooms. The strain of the pre¬
ceding twenty-four hours had been tremen¬
dous, and the anxieties which he felt for the
future were keen. The step he had taken
in overruling the Council and sending the
prisoners into foreign territory was one the
results of which he could not quite estimate.
It was, he was convinced, the only course;
and for the consequences he did not greatly
care, so far as he himself was concerned.
He thought of Moret, — poor, brave, im¬
petuous Moret, who would have set the
world right in a day. The loss of such a
friend had been a severe one to him, pri¬
vately and politically. Death had removed
the only disinterested man, the only one on

336 life’s compensations.

whom he could lean in the hour of need.
A sense of weariness, of disgust with strug¬
gling, of desire for peace filled his soul.
The object for which he had toiled so long
was now nearly attained and it seemed of
little worth, of little comparative worth, that
is to say, beside Lucile.

As a Revolutionist he had long made
such arrangements with his property as to
make sure of a competence in another land,
if he had to fly Laurania; and a strong
wish to leave that scene of strife and car¬
nage and to live with the beautiful woman
who loved him took possession of his mind.
It was, however, his first duty to establish a
government in the place of that he had over¬
thrown. Yet when he reflected on the cross-
grained delegates, the mean pandering crowd
of office-seekers, the weak, distrustful, timid
colleagues, he hardly felt that he cared to
try ; so great was the change that a few
hours had worked in this determined and
aspiring man.

Lucile rose to meet him as he entered.
Fate had indeed driven them together, for

life’s compensations.

337

she had no other hope in life, nor was there
anyone to whom she could turn for help.
Yet she looked at him with terror.

His quick mind guessed her doubt. “ I
tried to save him,” he said ; “ but I was too
late, though I was wounded in taking a
short cut there.”

She saw his bandaged arm, and looked at
him with love. “ Do you despise me very
much ? ” she asked.

“No,” he replied; “I would not marry a
goddess.”

“ Nor I,” she said, “ a philosopher.”

Then they kissed each other, and thence¬
forward their relationship was simple.

But in spite of the labours of the day
Savrola had no time for rest. There was
much to do, and, like all men who have to
work at a terrible pressure for a short period,
he fell back on the resources of medicine.
He went to a little cabinet in the corner of
the room and poured himself out a potent
drug, something that would dispense with
sleep and give him fresh energy and endur¬
ance. Then he sat down and began to write

33B life’s compensations.

orders and instructions and to sign the pile
of papers he had brought with him from
the Mayoralty. Lucile, seeing him thus
employed, betook herself to her room.

It was about one o’clock in the morning
when there came a ringing at the bell. Sav-
rola, mindful of the old nurse, ran down
and opened the door himself. Tiro, in plain
clothes, entered. “ I have come to warn
you,” he said.

“ Of what ? ”

“ Someone has informed the Council that
you have released the prisoners. They have
summoned an urgency meeting. Do you
think you can hold them ? ”

“ The devil ! ” said Savrola pensively.
Then after a pause he added, “ I will go
and join them.”

“ There are stages laid by road to the
frontier,” said the Subaltern. “ The Presi¬
dent made me arrange them in case he
should wish to send Her Excellency away.
If you decide to give up the game you can
escape by these ; they will hold them to my
warrant.”

life’s compensations.

339

No, said Savrola. “ It is good of you
to think of it j but I have saved this people
from tyranny and must now try to save them
from themselves.”

“You have saved the lives of my brother-
officers,” said the boy; “you can count on
me.”

Savrola looked at him and an idea struck
him. “ These relays were ordered to convey
Her Excellency to neutral territory; they
had better be so used. Will you conduct
her?”

“ Is she in this house?” inquired the Sub¬
altern.

“Yes,” said Savrola bluntly.

Tiro laughed; he was not in the least
scandalised. “ I am beginning to learn more
politics every day,” he said.

“You wrong me,” said Savrola; “but will
you do as I ask ? ”

“ Certainly, when shall I start ? ”

“ When can you ? ”

“ I will bring the travelling-coach round in
half-an-hour.”

“ Do,” said Savrola. “ I am grateful to

340

life’s compensations.

you. We have been through several expe¬
riences together.”

They shook hands warmly, and the Sub¬
altern departed to get the carriage.

Savrola went up-stairs and, knocking at
Lucile’s door, informed her of the plan. She
implored him to come with her.

“ Indeed I wish I could,” he said; “ I am
sick of this ; but I owe it to them to see it
out. Power has little more attraction for
me. I will come as soon as things are set¬
tled, and we can then be married and live
happily ever afterwards.”

But neither his cynical chaff nor argu¬
ments prevailed. She threw her arms round
his neck and begged him not to desert her.
It was a sore trial. At last with an aching
heart he tore himself away, put on his hat
and coat, and started for the Mayoralty.

The distance was about three quarters of
a mile. He had accomplished about half of
this when he met a patrol of the rebel forces
under an officer. They called on him to
halt. He pulled his hat down over his eyes,
not wishing for the moment to be recog-

life’s compensations.

341

nised. The officer stepped forward. It was
the wounded man to whom Savrola had en¬
trusted the escorting of the prisoners after
the surrender of the palace.

“ How far are we away from the Plaza San
Marco ? ” he asked in a loud voice.

“ It is there,” said Savrola pointing.
“ Twenty-third Street is the number.”

The rebel knew him at once. “ March
on,” he said to his men, and the patrol
moved off. “Sir,” he added to Savrola, in
the low, quick voice of a man in moments of
resolve, “ I have a warrant from the Council
for your arrest. They will deliver you to the
Admiral. Fly, while there is time. I will
take my men by a roundabout way, which
will give you twenty minutes. Fly; it may
cost me dear, but we are comrades ; you said
so.” He touched Savrola’s wounded arm.
Then louder to the patrol : “ Turn down that
street to the right : we had better get out of
the main thoroughfare ; he may sneak off by
some lane or other.” Then again to Savrola:

“ There are others coming, do not delay ; ”
and with that he hurried after his men.

342

life’s compensations.

Savrola paused for a moment. To go on
was imprisonment, perhaps death ; to return,
meant safety and Lucile. Had it been the
preceding day, he would have seen the mat¬
ter out ; but his nerves had been strained for
many hours, — and nothing stood between
them now. He turned and hurried back to
his house.

The travelling-coach stood at the door.
The Subaltern had helped Lucile, weeping,
into it. Savrola called to him. “ I have
decided to go,” he said.

“ Capital ! ” replied Tiro. “ Leave these
pigs to cut each other’s throats ; they will
come to their senses presently.”

So they started, and as they toiled up the
long ascent of the hills behind the city, it
became daylight.

“ Miguel denounced you,” said the Sub¬
altern ; “ I heard it at the Mayoralty. I told
you he would let you in. You must try and
get quits with him some day.”

“ I never waste revenge on such creatures,”
replied Savrola ; “ they are their own damna¬
tion.”

life’s compensations.

343

At the top of the hill the carriage stopped,
to let the panting horses get their wind.
Savrola opened the door and stepped out.
Four miles off, and it seemed far below him,
lay the city he had left. Great columns of
smoke rose from the conflagrations and hung,
a huge black cloud in the still clear air of
the dawn. Beneath the long rows of white
houses could be seen the ruins of the Senate,
the gardens, and the waters of the harbour.
The warships lay in the basin, their guns
trained upon the town. The picture was a
terrible one ; to this pass had the once beau¬
tiful city been reduced.

A puff of white smoke sprang from a dis¬
tant ironclad, and after a while the dull boom
of a heavy gun was heard. Savrola took out
his watch ; it was six o’clock ; the Admiral
had kept his appointment with scrupulous
punctuality. The forts, many of whose guns
had been moved during the night to the
landward side, began to reply to the fire of
the ships, and the cannonade became general.
The smoke of other burning houses rose
slowly to join the black, overhanging cloud

344

life’s compensations.

against which the bursting shells showed
white with yellow flashes.

“ And that,” said Savrola after prolonged
contemplation, “ is my life’s work.”

A gentle hand touched his arm. He
turned and saw Lucile standing by him.
He looked at her in all her beauty, and felt
that after all he had not lived in vain.

Those who care to further follow the an¬
nals of the Republic of Laurania may read
how, after the tumults had subsided, the
hearts of the people turned again to the
illustrious exile who had won them freedom,
and whom they had deserted in the hour of
victory. They may, scoffing at the fickleness
of men, read of the return of Savrola and his
beautiful consort, to the ancient city he had
loved so well. They may learn how Lieu¬
tenant Tiro was decorated for his valour
in the war with the little bronze Lauranian
Cross which is respected all over the world ;
of how he led the Lancers’ polo team to
England according to his desire, and de¬
feated the Amalgamated Millionaires in the

life’s compensations. 345

final match for the Open Cup ; of how he
served the Republic faithfully with honour
and success and rose at last to the command
of the army. Of the old nurse, indeed, they
will read no more, for history does not con¬
cern itself with such. But they may observe
that Godoy and Renos both filled offices in
the State suited to their talents, and that
Savrola bore no malice to Miguel, who con¬
tinued to enjoy good-fortune as a compen¬
sation for his mean and odious character.

But the chronicler, finding few great events,
other than the opening of colleges, railways,
and canals, to recount, will remember the
splendid sentence of Gibbon, that history is
“ little more than the register of the crimes,
follies, and misfortunes of mankind”; and
he will rejoice that, after many troubles, peace
and prosperity came back to the Republic of
Laurania.

I

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_ Churchill ,

Sir W.L.S.

Savrola.

DATE

ISSUED TO

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